


Roses in Winter

by WhisperingWolf



Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2019-07-05 03:42:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 73,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15855507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhisperingWolf/pseuds/WhisperingWolf
Summary: Emmett had never thought much of Angela Weber until he was paired with her for a history assignment in class. She had always been just another one of Bella’s friends, someone whom he looked out for because Bella did. But then one day he learned that the girl who always seemed so silent was the one person who was screaming the loudest, and what kind of protector would he be to ignore the cries of an innocent in pain?





	1. Prologue "Giles Corey"

**Author's Note:**

> Some of you may remember this story a little differently from years back. The original version is still available on FFN.

A.N.: The Twilight Saga—books and movies—and all recognizable characters are the sole property of Stephanie Meyer. While I am borrowing the characters for a little while, this story is my own. No copyright infringement is intended. This story is canon AU, the characters and a few moments a blend between the books and movies. Angela Weber, for instance, is the movie version, and not the book’s original description. Though this story will, at times, show all the relationships both familial and romantic between the couples, the main focus is on Angela Weber and how she becomes a member of the Cullen family.

Summary: Emmett had never thought much of Angela Weber until he was paired with her for a history assignment in class. She had always been just another one of Bella’s friends, someone whom he looked out for because Bella did. But then one day he learned that the girl who always seemed so silent was the one person who was screaming the loudest, and what kind of protector would he be to ignore the cries of an innocent in pain?

 

 

Roses in Winter

By WhisperingWolf 

**_Book One: Shattering Glass_ **

Prologue

_Giles Corey_

 

 

_January 10, 2009_

_Alice came to me last night, her visions troubling her. There is something on the horizon. Something is changing, but she can’t see what it is. She can’t feel it, either. My daughter relies on her visions, as much as Edward relies on his talent for reading thoughts, to protect our family. Alice told me that her visions have been blurred, out of focus, for the past several days. She can’t tell whether what is coming is dangerous, or not, and in her efforts to search for an answer, my daughter has strained herself to the point of exhaustion. Or, as close as one of our kind can come to such a state._

_She sat next to me on the couch in my office, and I sang to her for almost an hour until she relaxed. I know it worries her not to be able to see, but I find myself curious. What is this change? What will it_ _mean for my family?_

 

Carlisle’s brows drew together as he set aside his pen, staring at the words he’d written in the handcrafted leather journal. Something was coming, that was all Alice had told him, the three words she’d repeated to him over and over again as she’d sat curled in a ball on the couch next to him. Something was changing but what?

Pursing his lips as he slipped the silk ribbon between the pages, he folded the journal closed, wrapping the rough leather tie around the book thrice before tucking the end of it inside, and returning the journal to the shelf he kept it on. Wherever and whatever those answers might be, they wouldn’t be coming any time soon, and as much as he wanted to know more, he knew the only thing he could do was wait. After all, patience was a virtue, or so they said.

 

**~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~**

 

Her eyes stung, her brow furrowing as she looked down at the book in front of her, shaking her head—the movement barely perceptible—as she stared at the picture in her textbook. He was just an old man who wouldn’t bend to the hysteria around him, and for that, he had been tortured and killed. The image of the townsfolk standing around, some cheering, others who looked so angry, their faces twisted and pinched. How could they do that? How could they watch their neighbor—their _friend_ —be slowly suffocated, his bones breaking from the weight that was piled upon him, and not say _anything_?

That huge plank of wood–-it was larger than the door of the classroom she was seated in, she thought as she glanced up at the front of the room-–had to have been terribly heavy in its own right, but then to have been forced to lay there while boulder after boulder was piled on top of him? What did they expect him to say? The faces of the people lifting the stone depicted in the image-–it took two huge men to move it—were grimacing at the weight of it. How could the townsfolk demand answers of someone who likely couldn’t even draw in the air he needed to breathe, let alone speak? How could anyone justify those actions? How could someone-– _anyone_ -–do that to another human being and call it righteous and lawful?

Edward frowned as he looked at Angela from the corner of his eye. He narrowed his eyes as he watched her stare down at the history textbook lying open on her desk, wincing as he pursed his lips. She had always been such a shy girl, quiet and unobtrusive, her thoughts the most selfless and compassionate he had ever known, and for reasons he didn’t fully understand, he hated the way the topic of their class upset her. Part of him wanted to rip the book away, tear it to shreds as though it posed some kind of threat to her, and as irrational as he knew the desire was, he couldn’t silence it, either.

_If I were alive during those times,_ Angela thought and Edward found himself unable to silence the quiet growl rolling in the back of his throat, _my father would be one of those preachers. He wouldn’t even think twice about doing something like this._ She closed her eyes, swallowing hard as she shook her head, her heart skipping a beat. _He even calls archaeology and anthropology blasphemous. For all the traveling he’s done, and he still thinks . . ._ She shook her head, and Edward straightened in his seat, wincing at the feel of her mentally closing the door on her thoughts as though guarding herself from some kind of monster. _Why is it so hard for some people to accept other cultures and let them be?_

“Miss Weber.” Edward growled when the clipped tone of the teacher’s voice made Angela jump, the sound too soft to be heard by anyone other than his vampire siblings. “Mister Cullen,” the teacher continued as he looked up from the clipboard in his hand, dropping the edge of the paper he’d been holding up back in place as he looked up, taking off his plastic-rimmed glasses as he scanned the room. “Emmett Cullen,” he specified as he pointed to Emmett with his glasses before slipping them back on.

_Well,_ Emmett’s thoughts echoed in Edward’s mind, the sound of his brother’s voice breaking his concentration away from Angela. _At least, I got paired with Weber. She’s not so bad._

“You two will be partners for the next week,” the teacher said as the whispers and low tones of the students turned into a dull roar, the clock counting down to the end of the day. “Now, for those teams I’ve assigned with even numbers . . . People, please stop talking and listen!” The teacher looked across the room at his restless students and sighed. “For those teams with even numbers, please raise your hands,” he requested and waited as half the class raised their hands. “You will be working in defense of the actions taken by the townspeople of Salem, up to and including the deaths of all the victims of the Salem Witch Trials.”

_What’s with you, Edward?_ Alice directed her thoughts to him and Edward cast her a sidelong glance without turning his head. _I don’t know if it was just an errant thought or not, but I had a split-second vision of you destroying Angela’s textbook. You know that would have scared the living hell out of her, right? And it’s not like you could have explained it to her, either._ Edward sighed inwardly as he rolled his eyes, knowing Alice could see what he intended to say in response, her visions allowing her an almost subtle form of telepathy when they conversed. _I know that’s why you stopped yourself and I wasn’t trying to harass you._

Edward turned his head, fisting his hands against an incessant ringing in his ears. He knew it wasn’t from him, there wasn’t any sound he was hearing that could be causing it, but he could still hear it; he just didn’t know where it was coming from.

_It’s got to be from Angela,_ Alice said, her alto tones soothing against the high-pitched burn. _You’re still listening to her, I can tell. What is it about her today that’s got you so focused?_ Edward shook his head, the movement slight as he narrowed his eyes on the girl seated a few desks in front of him.

“Miss Weber.” Edward watched Angela look up when the teacher called her name. “You and Emmett Cullen will be acting as defense council for Giles Corey. And remember, the laws we have today didn’t exist back then. You’ll need to research the laws in the historical record from that time period.”

_I wonder what it’s like to be loved._

Edward blinked at the thought that whispered through the girl’s mind, following her line of sight when he noticed her distraction. His lips turned up at one corner when he realized she was watching the gym teacher and a nurse from Fork’s Hospital standing in the quad outside, their body language speaking of a young couple in love. Edward frowned, his eyes narrowing as her thought whispered through his memory. Loved? She was dating Ben; he knew she was, so why didn’t she feel loved. And why did her thoughts sound so very . . . lonely?

Edward arched a brow when he looked up to find the teacher staring at him silently before the man turned his attention away to look out over the rest of the classroom. “I want outlines from everyone by Wednesday and final papers turned in by Friday. And, people, I don’t want just one team member doing all the work. Next Monday, you will be giving oral presentations on your assignments. Teamwork, people!” he called out as the bell rang. “Enjoy your weekend!”

_Damnit, it’s gone._ Edward frowned, turning his head just enough to glance at Angela, narrowing his eyes at the tired sound of her thoughts.

_Edward._ He turned back to look at Alice, heaving a mental sigh as he arched his brow. _You’re not usually this distracted. She’s a big girl, you know. It’s not like-–_ He raised his hand with a flick of his wrist, watching as Alice rolled her eyes. _I swear it’s like you don’t know what to do with yourself when Bella’s not here for you to watch over._

_You two are doing that weird vision-telepathy thing again, aren’t you?_ Edward cast his brother a sidelong glance, watching as Emmett shook his head and gathered his things together before slinging his backpack over his shoulder. _I really can’t wait until we can graduate again. Rosie’s been talking about maybe seeing Africa, and this high school thing is getting old._

Edward chuckled as Alice giggled, the two of them glancing at Emmett. Edward narrowed his eyes as he watched Emmett scan the classroom, his brother’s brow furrowing as he studied Angela. Everyone else was already up and out of their seats, the classroom nearly deserted in less than thirty seconds, but Angela remained where she was. He watched as Emmett moved to the side, just enough to give him a better vantage point as he looked at the girl, reading his brother’s thoughts as the taller man studied her.

Her jaw was clenched, her eyes closed, though it appeared-–at least to Emmett-–that she was taking great care to look relaxed when she was anything but. Her right hand was fisted on top of her thigh beneath the cover of her desk, every muscle tensed into a stillness that was nearly statuesque. She was holding her breath, Edward thought as he stared at Angela for a moment longer before glancing back at Alice.

_I can’t get a read on her,_ Alice denied with a shake of her head. _Either she hasn’t made any decisions yet or something’s blocking me._

_I’m going to hang out for a while, Edward. I want to try and work out a schedule with Angela. Maybe even do a little work on it tonight._ Emmett said, directing his thoughts to Edward. _I’ll meet you all at home. Let Rose know?_

Edward met his brother’s gaze, offering him a nod before glancing back to Alice and jerking his head toward the door. He always found it a bit strange how the telepathic conversations that seemed so intense only ever took a few seconds. The bell was still ringing even, he thought as his brows rose and fell in a shrug.

_Move, Edward,_ Alice commanded him, amusement in her tone. _Everyone else is gone accept for us and Angela. She’ll be fine; Emmett will look out for her._

“I’m not a mother hen,” he whispered to Alice, responding to her fleeting thought out loud, only to narrow his eyes when she laughed.

_Yes, you are._

 

**~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~  
**

It was getting worse. The lights were too bright but there wasn’t a way for her to reasonably put on her sunglasses inside the classroom, not without the teacher or the other students making some kind of remark in response. She closed her eyes as she drew in a deep breath, holding it for a count of eight before releasing it as slowly and unobtrusively as possible. She had learned long ago to never draw attention to herself, to move through the world as a ghost.

She really didn’t have that many friends at all, making it easier to remain unseen, unnoticed. It was sheer luck that Bella had become her friend at all, the Sherriff’s daughter seeming to prefer her own level of anonymity. But Bella had drifted to her, and then Edward had noticed Bella, and . . .

Angela clenched her jaw as she flinched. The inner musings she had tried to use as a distraction were thwarted by the sunlight that shone in through the classroom window, the bright white light making her hold her breath once again as she feared she might pass out. She just had to hang on a few more minutes and she would be able to leave the classroom, leave the school. If she could hang on just a little bit longer, just until she could get someplace where she could turn off all the lights—someplace dark—she’d be all right.

“Miss Weber.” Angela’s eyes snapped open as she jumped, wincing against the brightness of the overhead lights, thankful that the sun had once more been covered by the clouds. Biting back a whimper of pain, she looked up when the teacher called her name. “You and Emmett Cullen will be acting as defense council for Giles Corey . . .”

Emmett? She thought as she closed her eyes once more, the rest of the teacher’s words fading into the background as a high-pitched noise echoed in her ears. She tried to focus around the ringing in her ears, tried to find something she could use to gain just a semblance of control. Emmett, she thought again, flashes of him walking beside Rosalie appearing in her mind, the way he would look at her when he thought no one was looking, the way she would look at him . . .

_I wonder what it’s like to be loved,_ she thought as she felt her mind slow, the piercing burn of the pain she suffered fading as she released a slow breath.

Her short reprieve from the flare of pain was ripped away a few seconds later when the class was released. Angela clenched her fist on top of her thigh beneath her desk, the ringing of the bell echoing in her ears, the intense burn of her migraine returning with all the fire of a screaming banshee. It took every bit of willpower she had to remain in her seat, to appear unaffected. She controlled her breaths, holding the air inside her lungs for a long slow count of eight before releasing it slowly, hoping she was keeping her expression as neutral as possible and never once forgetting the lessons her mother had drilled into her.

She reached blindly for her purse, bringing the small satchel up onto her lap as she opened it without looking inside. Everything was familiar by touch alone, a habit she had learned long ago when the lights had become too bright, when she had learned what it meant to be blinded in the dimmest of lights. She moved her pens and mechanical pencils aside, sifted her fingers through the items inside, but the prescription bottle that was supposed to be there was nowhere to be found.

_Damnit. It’s gone._

She needed that bottle. It didn’t matter how much it made her feel like a zombie or how impossible it was to function, she needed the relief it would provide, but it just wasn’t there. Had she left it at home? In her locker? In the newspaper office? Why didn’t she have it with her? How could she be so damn careless?

Don’t worry about that now; put your books away. The thought whispered in her mind, little more than a fleeting reminder of the task she needed to complete and she braced herself as she opened her eyes. Light seemed to be flooding the classroom, casting a hazy glow on everything around her, but when she turned her eyes down to her desktop, it was clear. She squeezed her eyes closed tightly, blinking wide a few seconds later. She had expected to find the empty desktop to be nothing more than an illusion, but once again, she was met with nothing but the polished wood.

Squinting as she turned her eyes down to the bag on the floor next to her, she stared at it, tilting her head as she studied it through narrowed eyes. Had she put away her things without remembering? Had she forgotten to take them out altogether?

The pieces of missing time, the moments of not remembering how she got from one place to the next were bad enough, often times leaving her scared of her own shadow, but she could deal with that. The pain, the nausea, the nosebleeds, the times where she very nearly passed out from the simple action of turning her head or standing up-–all of that—she could deal with; she had learned how to handle it. But the vertigo? The moments when she felt the world around her spin ungodly fast, worse than being strapped into a Tilt-a-Whirl set to its max speed, that . . . That she couldn’t handle at all.

She closed her eyes as she released a deep, slow breath, the ringing bell mercifully stopped, the last echoes of it fading into silence as she found some semblance of control of her whirring mind. Gasping as she startled at the cool hand on her shoulder, Angela turned her head, looking up through wide eyes at the person standing next to her.

“Are you all right?” Emmett Cullen asked. Angela winced as she nodded, the light of the sun was hidden behind the clouds once more, but it was still too bright, and she closed her eyes only to blink in confusion when the classroom seemed to dim. “He turned off the lights,” he said when she turned her head to look at the empty classroom around them.

“Oh,” she replied with a slow nod, her brows furrowed.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked her again, and she forced a breathy chuckle.

“I’m fine,” Angela assured him as she shook her head. “You just surprised me, that’s all,” she said, wincing inwardly at the pained exhaustion she could hear in her own voice. She was usually better at hiding it, she berated herself.

“Everyone else is already gone,” he reminded her, moving back a few steps when she stood from her desk. “I was thinking that we should figure this out before Monday,” he told her, nodding to the blackboard when she frowned in confusion.

“It’s not due ‘til Friday,” Angela said as she lifted her backpack to her shoulder, grabbing her purse from the desktop as she moved to follow him out of the classroom. “What’s the rush?”

“I don’t mean complete it,” Emmett replied, a bemused grin tilting his lips up to one side, his brow furrowing as he held the classroom door open for her, his hand braced up against the top corner of the heavy wood. “I meant figure out times to meet and work on it.”

“Oh, yeah, that makes sense,” she agreed as she ducked beneath his arm.

Angela closed her eyes as she slipped into the hall, trying to push against every silent desire that made her want to move closer to Emmett. His height, his hulking form, somehow, he always made her feel safe, and she didn’t understand that. Until today, he’d never even talked to her directly. If she did move closer, he would mistake her seeking shelter for something else, and she knew it. Who wouldn’t, she thought as she cast a fleeting glance in his direction. There was no doubting that he was beautiful, but she had never once had a crush on him. To her, Emmett Cullen had always felt like a big brother, the kind of protector who could soothe an emotional wound as easily as he would avenge a physical attack.

It was nothing but a silly fantasy, wasn’t it? The thing she wanted most-–to feel safe-–and she was making him the focus of it. That wasn’t fair to him and she knew it, she thought as she told herself to think about something else, to close off her emotions around him. If she didn’t, if she gave into any kind of imagined closeness because of this project, the only one who would be hurt and embarrassed in the end would be her.

She glanced back when he stepped up beside her. “What’s your-– “

She wasn’t expecting the bright flash of the camera; she didn’t have time to brace herself against the influx of light that was too bright, too close, too-– _much_. She could feel herself falling as her bags and purse slipped to the floor, her blood rushing in her ears as the shrill ringing began once more. She thought she heard Emmett’s voice, felt his arms wrap around her as she was held against something strong and cool-–his chest?

Vibrations? she wondered as she pressed her palm against his chest. Was he speaking to her, she wondered, unable to bite back the half-whimper half-whine of exhaustion and pain that escaped her and pressed her forehead against his chest as he stroked her hair. She should move; she could feel people staring, she thought as she tried to push past the desire to pass out right then and there.

“It’s all right, half pint,” he whispered to her, his voice kept low as he petted her hair, holding her close, and she realized absently that he was trying to soothe her. “It’s just you and me,” he told her in low tones. “I’ve got you.”

She hadn’t noticed until that moment that she was crying quietly, tears seeping from between her lashes. She hadn’t felt them at all, but they were there, dampening his shirt, her breath coming in shuddering gasps. Angela tried to calm herself as she reminded herself that she was worrying him for no good reason, making a spectacle out of him, and pulled back slowly as she blinked, brushing the few remaining tears from her cheeks with a shake of her head, a forced smile.

“I’m okay,” she told him, grimacing inwardly at the sound of her own voice and cleared her throat as she tried to act as though nothing had happened. “Thanks,” she said as she reached for her bag and purse, blinking quickly as she tried to regain control of her faculties. “That would have been pretty embarrassing,” she said, nodding to the space in front of them, referring to her near-fall.

He stared at her through slightly narrowed eyes, his brow furrowed as he studied her. “Are you sure you’re all right?” Emmett asked as he focused his senses on her. Her heartbeat sounded off, he thought, too fast one moment and almost sluggish the next. “Angela?” he called to her when he found her to be staring at him, her eyes dull and glassy.

She blinked when he called her name again, shaking herself as though she had simply drifted away mentally or fallen asleep in those few seconds that he’d been standing there with her. He narrowed his eyes again as he watched her shake her head, a light blush rising to color her cheeks, the added color making him realize just how pale she had become.

“I’m fine,” she denied him with a shake of her head. “The flash just startled me, that’s all.”

Startled nothing, he thought as he watched her turn away, following behind her as she led him down to the school’s newspaper office. He knew he hadn’t been mistaken. Angela hadn’t just been surprised by the camera, she’d been _scared_ by it. But why?

“I’ll only be a few minutes,” she promised as she slipped inside and closed the door.

He narrowed his eyes as he stared at the door. He didn’t buy her excuse for one second but he also knew better than to pry. He had Rosalie to thank for that, he thought, a smile curling his lips as he caught sight of her walking toward him from the other end of the hall. She’d taught him what to look out for, the signs that spoke of fear or abuse or suffering. She’d taught him everything he needed to know about comforting someone who had been hurt, who’d had their trust betrayed, how to support someone who moved so rapidly between being enraged at what had happened to them to scared of their own shadow.

It hadn’t taken him long at all to realize that the bulk of his wife’s snark and projected disdain was nothing more than an emotional shield she wore like a suit of armor. Even after all this time, he knew that she still blamed herself for what had happened, for the attack visited on her by Royce and his friends. He knew that in some manner she would never lose her anger over having been saved by Carlisle, having been turned against her will, and brought into this eternal life. But after all the conversations he’d had with Carlisle and the numerous books he’d read, it hadn’t been very difficult to realize that due to the nature of her attack and how close to death she had been when she was turned, in some manner, a piece of her mind would always be stuck in that moment.

There were times he was grateful their kind didn’t sleep, he thought as he met Rosalie’s gaze, watching the gracefulness of her movements as she grew closer to him. The thought that if she were human, that she could be trapped in the nightmares her mind created . . . He wondered if she’d ever see their tireless existence as a blessing in the same way he did. Her gold eyes narrowed as she drew closer, her gaze studying him as her expression grew seductive.

“How’s my beautiful Rosie?” he asked her, smiling when she stopped in front of him, and framed her face in his hands as he kissed her.

“Ready to go home,” she purred before lowering her voice as she tipped her head down in order to look up at him through her lashes. “I have an itch that needs scratched,” she whispered, her heated stare holding his as she tipped up on her toes, growling just loud enough for him to hear as she nuzzled the curve of his throat.

He groaned in appreciation before pulling back, a low chuckle rumbling deep in his chest as he met her pouting stare. “Aw, sorry, Rosie,” he said with a teasing grin, his eyes sparkling. “I’m going to be staying a bit longer. I want to get some things sorted out with Angela before I leave for the day. Meet you at home?”

“If you must,” she replied after a moment with a roll of her eyes as she tossed her hair over her shoulder. “You’re as bad as Edward, playing with these humans.”

He watched her narrow her eyes, an almost jealous expression crossing her features before disappearing just as quickly. She had nothing at all to be worried about, they both knew that, but it was the interruption to gaining what she wanted that she disapproved of.

“She’s a friend of Bella’s and my partner for the next week in history class,” he defended easily with a shrug. “She’s a good kid. Just ask Edward; he seems to like listening to her thoughts enough.”

Shaking her head before turning away, Rosalie looked back at him with an impatient stare. “Don’t keep me waiting too long, or I’ll start without you.”

He arched a brow as a crooked grin twisted his lips up to the side. He still owed Edward for the events of the week before, his smile widening as he realized he could use the delay to his advantage. “Why don’t you just think _real_ hard about all the things you want me to do to you,” he suggested quirking his eyebrows at her suggestively.

“You just want to torture Edward,” she pointed out with a laugh as she sauntered away.

“Pfft. Of course!” He laughed and shook his head.

He stared after Rosalie for a moment longer, watching as she disappeared into the crowd before turning back to face the door of the school newspaper office behind him. His smile fell away slowly, his dark brows drawing together in a worried frown as he listened to the low tone of the familiar heartbeat behind the door. He wasn’t sure if she was tired or stressed but he knew that the rhythm he was hearing-–slow and stuttering at times-–wasn’t quite right. And her reactions from earlier, he thought as the door opened and Angela slipped silently into the hall, made him suspicious that she was in some kind of pain. Her scent alone told him there was no physical reason for the pain—no open wound, at least. But if not that, then what, he wondered.

Emmett narrowed his eyes when Angela lifted her head, noticing for the first time that she had donned her sunglasses before exiting the office. The level of light inside may seem bright to him with his enhanced senses, but Angela was human, he thought with suspicion. Wouldn’t these halls seem somewhat dim to her? She was definitely hiding something, he thought as he pursed his lips, and it bothered him more than it should.

“I just need to get a few things,” she said quietly.

Emmett nodded as he watched her step around him, feeling certain that she was moving with more caution than she had before, her steps slower and somehow stiff. He didn’t say anything as he followed behind her, realizing absently that he had stopped paying attention to the other humans moving around him, his senses focused solely on the human girl in front of him. She was holding her breath, he noted with concern, listening as she released the air slowly—carefully-–only to breathe in again a moment later and hold that breath as well.

_Breathing exercises?_ he thought with confusion. He recognized the technique, having witnessed Bella use it before after her leg had been broken. None of it made any sense to him, each new piece of evidence he gathered only adding to a growing pile of things that he really didn’t want to believe were true.

Gold gaze shifting to the left as he came to a stop behind Angela, he narrowed his eyes at the note sticking out of the top of her locker. He watched her stare at it for a moment, her face expressionless as her gaze remained fixed on the piece of folded paper before her lips twitched with a fleeting smile and she plucked it from its resting place. He knew he wasn’t mistaken, he thought as he watched her tuck the note into the pocket of her jeans, she had been cautious of the note even as she’d smiled at it. She hadn’t appeared upset by the note, he thought as he watched her spin the combination lock built into the door of her locker, but she hadn’t exactly been approving of it, either.

Her grip was tighter than it needed to be, he noted, watching as she took her laptop from her locker, the tips of her fingers and her knuckles white with the strength of the hold she used as though she were afraid she would drop the device. He watched as she hugged the laptop in her arms, holding it tightly to her chest as she shut the metal door, spinning the dial to secure the lock once more before turning to face him.

“What?” Angela asked with a curious frown, lifting one hand to lower her dark lenses just enough to meet his gaze, allowing him to see the redness of her eyes.

He couldn’t smell her tears, he thought as he watched her push the glasses back into place, but the redness of her eyes made him certain she’d been crying. “The note,” he said with a shrug, somehow knowing she’d pull away if he asked her about her red eyes or the pain he was certain she was in. “Just seemed pretty odd.”

Angela gave a breathy laugh and shook her head before turning and leading the way toward the front doors. “Ben’s been leaving me little notes for the past few months or so. He tucks them into my locker, or my books, or even leaves them on my car. I think it’s his way of trying to be romantic,” she reasoned.

“Is it?” he asked and held the door of the school building open so that she could step outside ahead of him.

“Not really,” she told him with a half-grin and shrugged, “but he’s trying. Every now and then it’ll be a flower instead. The flowers are sweet and semi-romantic. The notes . . . well, he just needs to work on his lines, I suppose. Sometimes, they come off a tad bit creepy, but don’t tell him I said that.”

“What time is best for you, in regard to working on our assignment?” he asked her as he followed her to her car, not surprised to see the student parking lot virtually empty.

“Oh, um . . . most days after five, that’s usually when I get done with my work on the paper,” she said and opened the driver’s side passenger door to drop her bags inside, taking her keys from her purse before shutting the door. “Did you want a ride home? It looks like everyone’s gone.”

“Sure, half pint, that’d be great,” he said with a lopsided grin and chuckled when she laughed.

“Half pint?” she asked with amusement, her brows raised in question as he got into the passenger side, adjusting the seat before dropping his book bag between his feet on the floor.

“Of course,” he grinned at her as she started the engine. “You’re tiny.”

“Not hardly,” she said with a grimace. “I’m a giant,” she mumbled.

“Pfft,” he scoffed as she pulled out of the school parking lot and onto the street. “I’m bigger than you are.”

“Emmett,” she laughed his name. “You’re bigger than everyone.”

“So? I’m still bigger than you,” he told her, and she shook her head. “What?” he asked at her bemused grin.

“You,” she said simply, slowing to a stop at a red light. “You’re always so quiet. I’ve only seen you playful with your family and Bella. Kinda figured you hated everyone else,” she said with a shrug.

“Nah, I don’t hate anyone,” he assured her and saw her wince again, clenching her jaw against obvious pain. “Just don’t like crowds is all. Hey, uh, do you mind?” he said and motioned at a nearby coffee shop. “I could use a pick me up,” he lied knowing he wouldn’t be able to drink whatever he bought. “I’ll buy you one,” he said as she pulled into the parking lot.

“Oh, you don’t have to,” she said and he could tell from her expression and tone that she was touched by the offer.

“What’ll it be, half pint?” he asked and smiled when she grinned. He wasn’t prone to using nicknames for anyone outside of his own family, but it hadn’t escaped his notice that each time he called her ‘half pint’ she seemed to relax, the tension she carried easing just a bit.

“Double shot mocha—half sweet?” she requested as he opened his door, stepping out into the overcast afternoon.

“Coming right up,” he agreed easily with a nod, closing the door before making his way into the coffee shop.

He _knew_ she was in pain, he thought, clenching his jaw as he bit back a growl, and the more she tried to hide it from him the more it angered him. She was hurt, and he didn’t know where or why or who had done it and that she thought she had to keep it hidden . . . He looked back over his shoulder as he stepped forward, the small line moving slowly, and narrowed his eyes as he stared at the girl waiting for him in her car. His vision sharpened as he focused on her, watching her grimace as she bowed her head.

“What’ll it be?”

Emmett turned back with an inward sigh, his attention pulled away from Angela as he offered the girl behind the counter his order and a ten-dollar bill, telling her to keep the change. He wanted out of there, reminding himself that it would only be a few minutes longer until the drink he ordered was done. It had been quite a while since he’d last felt this protective over someone who wasn’t directly tied to his family, he thought as he nodded his thanks to the barista, taking the lidded paper cup from her and returning to the parking lot outside. He was normally the cautious one, unwilling to get too close to people-–especially humans.

His steps slowed as he came up to the car, hearing Angela’s muted groan, a sharpened whimper as he watched her pinch the bridge of her nose as she bent forward over the steering wheel. The things humans would be deaf and blind to seemed to be screaming at him in a bid to be noticed. Narrowing his eyes as he rapped the knuckle of his index finger against the glass of the driver-side window, he waited for Angela to look up at him, watching the slowness of her movements as she opened her door to accept the drink.

“Why don’t you let me drive, half pint,” he said, his tone making it clear he wouldn’t accept no for an answer, and nodded for her to scoot over. “You look beat.”

“Where’s yours?” she asked as she accepted the paper cup and moved over to sit in the passenger seat, her legs framing his backpack.

“I just got a doppio; downed it before I came out,” he lied as he adjusted the seat before he slipped behind the wheel and clipped the safety belt into place as he closed the door. “Just lean back and relax,” he said with a smile, turning the key to start the car. “How do I get to your place from here?”

“What about getting you home?” she asked as he exited the parking lot, her concern evident. “You can’t just walk; it’s too far!”

“Don’t you worry ’bout me,” he said with a chuckle as he drove through the streets, following the directions she gave. “I thought maybe you and I could figure out a schedule to work on the project, and then I’d have Rose pick me up here,” he said as he pulled into her driveway and parked the car. “If you don’t mind that is.”

“No, that’d be fine,” she agreed as she opened the door to step out, meeting his gaze over the roof of the car. “Are you sure?” she asked with a frown, watching as he grabbed her bags from the backseat, and she lifted his from the front. “It is Friday night; I don’t want to ruin any plans you might have.”

“Free as a bird,” he told her as he rounded the car to take his bag from her, silencing her with a raised brow when she opened her mouth to protest. “Will your parents mind having company?” he asked as he followed her up to the front door, the slight tremor of her hand as she slipped her key into the lock not escaping his attention.

“No, they--they’re not home,” she replied quietly, her voice catching as she led him inside. He followed behind her, watching as she opened the drawer of the accent table standing just inside the front door. “Business trip,” she offered with a shrug as she withdrew a small box.

He carried their bags over to the low coffee table in front of the couch, setting her laptop down on the solid wood table as he turned to watch her pop a pill in her mouth, grimacing as she swallowed it down with a sip of her coffee. She didn’t tell him what the medicine was for when she turned to find him watching her and he knew better than to ask. Turning away from her as he scanned his eyes over the downstairs of the house quietly, his brows furrowed as he narrowed his eyes. The more he pushed out his senses to get a feel for the house, the more he realized just how empty it was, as though it had been months since the last time anyone, aside from Angela herself, had lived there.

Part of him had noticed it earlier, back before they’d even left the school grounds, he thought as he moved to sit on the couch, and watched as Angela moved to join him. She was lonely, her aura closed off in a wholly protective manner as though she desperately wanted to let someone in but was afraid of being abandoned if she did. The dark circles beneath her eyes, the gray shadows that her makeup couldn’t hide from one of his kind, he thought as he watched her take a spiral-bound notebook from her backpack, opening it to an empty page before reaching for a pen. She hadn’t slept in days, he was certain of it, he thought as he watched her reach for her coffee with her left hand, balancing the cup on her knee as she looked down at the notebook on her thigh.

She blinked slowly as she asked him about setting up a schedule to work on their assignment, her eyes beginning to droop as her writing faltered. She really was exhausted, he noted as he slipped the pen from her slack hand and her coffee from the other, the girl beside him never seeming to notice. She leaned back against the couch slowly as he set her cup on the coffee table, and he followed suit, catching the notebook as it slid off her knee and moved it to rest on the cushion beside him as her eyes closed of their own accord.

He didn’t say anything when she unknowingly leaned against his shoulder, choosing instead to wrap his arm around her and pull her close to let her rest her head against his chest. She didn’t shy away from him as he thought she might, but lifted her arm, the move unconscious as she fisted her hand in the fabric of his shirt next to her chin. Shaking his head slightly and feeling the same protectiveness well up inside of him that he often felt around Bella, he laid his arm along the back of the couch, letting it slip down to wrap around her back when she curled closer.

The things he knew about her so far didn’t add up to much. He knew she was in pain, but didn’t know why. There was a fragility about her that was more than her humanity allowed for but also a quiet strength that spoke of her being left alone far too often. Why did her exhaustion bother him so much? What was it about her that called to him to protect her with the same fierceness that he protected Bella? None of it made any sense to him, he thought as he began to recite a Robert Frost poem to her, watching as she blinked slowly before falling asleep, her body leaning heavily against him.

Moving slowly as he watched for any sign that she was about to stir, he pulled her closer and slipped his other arm behind her knees, lifting her quietly to sit on his lap. Cradling her to his chest as he stood up slowly with Angela in his arms, her cheek pillowed against his chest as she slept, he carried her upstairs, following her scent to the room where it was the strongest. Stepping up to the side of her bed, he gently released her legs and stood her on her feet, holding her against his chest with one arm wrapped around her back while he tossed back the blankets with his free hand. Picking her up once more, he laid her down gently on the bed and removed her shoes before covering her and tucking the blankets up under chin. Shushing her quietly when she moaned in her sleep, he removed her glasses, setting them on her night table as he bent down over her.

“Sweet dreams, half pint,” he whispered as he kissed her forehead before leaving her to sleep and returned down the stairs.

It was only a few seconds later that he was slipping out through the front door, pulling it shut behind him and making certain that the doorknob was locked before he stepped away from the house. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off and circled the house twice to check for any signs of danger before disappearing into the woods. As much as he wanted to talk to Carlisle, he wasn’t sure if he should.

Turning back to look at the house almost twenty yards behind him, he stared at it for a moment before closing his eyes. Whether he talked to Carlisle or not, he thought as he focused his mind on football plays and basketball scores, he didn’t want Edward to know until he was ready to tell the others. Be thankful for small favors, he thought as he opened his eyes and ran toward his home; he at least had time to spend with Angela and figure out what exactly was going on before the attention he paid her would be suspect to anyone else.

 

**~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~**

_“Ninety-eight percent, Miss Weber,” the teacher said as he laid the test down on the desk in front of her, face up. “Second highest score.”_

_“In the class,” Angela finished the statement only to frown when the man slowly shook his head._

_“In_ all _my classes. Most students average between eighty-five to ninety-two percent on this particular test. The only person to score higher than you was Edward Cullen.”_

Angela stared at the five-page test she held in her hands, the score written at the top in red with a circle around it and note from her teacher written next to it. _“This test, and all the others before, secure your spot in AP Calculus II next term.”_ She should be proud-–she _had_ been proud-–she thought as she stared at the paper for a moment longer before glancing away. Her lips parted as she took in a deep breath, releasing a heavy exhalation as she laid the test inside the open shoebox where she kept all of her other academic papers and closed the lid on top to hide it away.

_“I got a ninety-eight!” Angela said, her excitement subdued by the caution she felt. She had learned long ago not to let herself get too excited about things like that, but even still, she waited with baited breath for their praise._

_“Ninety-eight?” her mother asked evenly._

_“We did not raise you to be a failure,” her father replied dismissively._

_“I didn’t-–“ She fell silent with a quiet sigh. “Mr. Reichard said I made the second highest score out of all of his classes.”_

_“One hundred percent or better,” her father reminded her as though speaking of nothing more important than the weather, “or it’s a failure.”_

_“Yes, sir,” Angela replied quietly. “I’ll do better next time.”_

_“See that you do,” he replied._

They hadn’t said anything more, hadn’t even said goodbye before the phone call had ended. She wasn’t even sure where they were this time on their missionary travels and knew better than to ask. She hated not knowing, hated the thought that she wasn’t enough that she didn’t measure up to the expectations they had of her, she thought with a self-deprecating glower as she carried the shoebox under her arm and returned it to its place high on the shelf in her closet.

Her head turned at the sound of the house phone ringing, knowing that there were few who ever called the number. Her parents, the patrons at the church her parents were pastors at, and telemarketers—that was it. Angela moved through the second floor of the house, jogging toward the stairs to catch the ringing phone. She was moving too quickly to stop when her foot missed a step and she cried out as she fell, her foot folding beneath her when she was halfway down the stairs, rolling down the six remaining steps to land in a heap on the floor below.

Hissing in pain as she grimaced and rubbed her ankle, Angela reached up for the wooden banister, pulling herself carefully to her feet, and making certain she had her balance, before hobbling to the cordless phone perched on the occasional table that stood against the wall between the living room and the kitchen. The machine clicked on as she rounded behind the couch, crying out when the toe of her good foot hit against the stubby wooden support of the couch, the shock of it causing her to lose her balance, and she groaned as she fell again. The machine clicked off a few seconds later, whoever had been calling declining to leave a message and Angela closed her eyes as she sighed only to groan once more when a knock sounded at the front door.

“Come in!” Angela called out, lifting her head just enough to look at the door before dropping her head back to the floor with a thump.

“Angela?” Emmett’s voice sounded as he stepped inside the house and shut the door.

“Over here,” she said raising her hand without moving from her position on the floor.

Emmett stepped around the couch and looked down at the girl lying on the floor. Arching an eyebrow as he dropped his bag onto the sofa and crossed his arms over his chest, he studied her. She was sprawled out on her back, looking as though she had decided that the floor would be more comfortable than the couch to take a nap on. He couldn’t suppress the lopsided grin borne of amusement that tugged at his lips as he looked her over before meeting her gaze.

“What are you doing down there, half pint?” he asked with a confused grin.

“The stairs tripped me and the couch bit me,” she told him, and he laughed heartily at her.

“Bit you, huh?” he joked and crouched down beside her, lifting the edge of the couch with one hand to look underneath it for a moment before setting it down again. “I don’t see any teeth.”

“Shut up.” She laughed at him only to hiss when he touched her swelling ankle.

“Stairs?” he asked looking from her ankle up to her face. “Fragile little thing,” he commented and chuckled when she stuck her tongue out at him.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s just sprained; I’ve got an ACE wrap upstairs in the bathroom medicine cabinet. I just have to actually go get it.”

“What happened?” he asked as he moved and scooped her up into his arms, grinning at her blush as he carried her upstairs.

“Came down the stairs a little too fast to catch the phone and my foot folded beneath me . . .How did you know which one was my room?” she asked when he set her down on her neatly made bed before disappearing out of the room.

“I put you to bed the other night,” he said with a shrug as he walked back to sit by her side, the ACE bandage in his hand.

“You did that?” she asked, her gratitude and amazement clear in her tone.

“Yeah, you were tired,” he said, frowning at the expression on her face. “What?”

“No one’s ever done that for me before,” she thought aloud and blushed as though she realized what she’d said.

“Seriously?” he asked and shushed her when he put her foot in his lap and set about removing her shoe and sock to look at her swollen ankle.

Angela shrugged. “I’ve fallen asleep a few times with Ben; he just leaves me on the couch,” she told him.

“Who taught that boy how to treat women?” Emmett asked, his disapproval clear in his voice. “Sorry,” he apologized when she hissed as he wrapped her ankle.

“No, it’s okay, I know it’s got to be wrapped tight,” she said unable to hide her pained wince. “Chivalry’s a dying art,” she told him in reference to his question about Ben.

“Pfft, ridiculous,” he scoffed, and she laughed.

“Thank you,” she said softly as he attached the metal clasp and she moved her foot from his lap in order to sit more comfortably.

Emmett was silent as he watched Angela touch the wrap he’d dressed her injured foot in, her fingers trailing over the stretchy cloth almost reverently. His eyes narrowed slightly as he studied her, his lips parting as he blinked in realization. It wasn’t that he had been the one to wrap her ankle, he thought as he watched her; it was that he had _done_ so at all. When was the last time anyone had taken care of her, he wondered. When was the last time that she had someone who was there just for her and hadn’t simply been left alone to take care of herself?

It wasn’t the first time he had noticed the absence of energy in the house. The scents of her parents that should be prevalent throughout the home, weren’t. It could take weeks for a human’s scent to fade away from a place they inhabited, and even after their scent was gone, the feel of them-–of their energy-–still remained, but not here. The only scent within this home was Angela’s, the only energy he ever felt in the home was her own, and he knew he wasn’t imagining things-–she really did try to make herself as unobtrusive as possible, even in her own home-–the one place that she should feel free to truly be herself.

He found himself stunned once more when she turned her eyes up to him slowly, her brow slightly furrowed, her lips parted as she stared at him with a mix of wonder and confusion.

“Thank you,” she said again, her quiet voice full of reverence.

He shrugged as he tried to put her at ease, knowing that she would shy away if confronted about the suspicions he had. “Everyone needs a big brother,” he told her and grinned. “So, what are we going to do about Giles Corey?”

 

**~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~**

  
 

Carlisle frowned as he took his seat behind the desk in his home office, his eyes narrowed as he looked at the closed wooden door. Turning to the right as he reached for his journal, he unwound the long leather strap, opening the soft bison-skin cover and let it fall open on the desk in front of him before pulling on the satin ribbon that marked the next blank page in the book. He didn’t look as he reached for his pen, didn’t notice much of anything as he uncapped it and brought the tapered fountain tip to the page, the weight of his thoughts demanding his attention.

 

_January 28, 2009_

_I came here to write my thoughts as I often do, but I find myself confused. I don’t often find myself lacking the words with which to voice or write my thoughts, today however I find that words are inadequate. I have noticed changes taking place with Emmett, they started roughly two days ago, at least that is when I first noticed them. He has been far quieter lately, more reserved, more introspective than before. My son, the protector of our coven, has been . . . guarded, secretive and I don’t understand why. I have always respected my children’s privacy, but I fear that if he does not come to me soon I may need to go to him. It is clear to me that something is bothering him, something that he finds it difficult to speak of. Even Edward has told me that Emmett is actively blocking him and has been for almost three days now. Something is wrong._

 

 

**~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~**

 

 

“Emmett,” Carlisle spoke his son’s name with surprise, standing back and waving his arm as he invited him into his office at Fork’s Hospital. “What brings you by?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, Emmett walked over to the shelves of medical texts and journals that lined the left wall. His eyes scanned over the spines of the books, looking over the titles without actually reading them. Carlisle studied his son with a concerned frown. Normally the one to crack jokes or speak forthright about whatever was on his mind, Emmett now looked a bit nervous as though he wasn’t certain what he wanted to say.

“Whatever you tell me, Emmett, provided that it does not bring a threat to our family, I will keep it between us.” Carlisle watched Emmett turn his head to look back at him, arching his brow, his expression telegraphing his thoughts about that particular statement. “I’ve become quite good over the years at keeping things from Edward when the need arises. What’s on your mind?”

“Can I speak to you hypothetically?” he asked, turning to face his adoptive father, his brow furrowed.

Carlisle frowned as he nodded slowly. Whatever was on Emmett’s mind, it was serious. He couldn’t remember ever having seen his boisterous son this tense and unsure of himself before. Motioning to the chairs that sat in front of his desk, he waited for Emmett to take a seat before he sat next to him.

“First, I just want to let you know that I’m going to be staying close to a human for a while. She’s sweet, damn smart, too, and she’s one of Bella’s friends,” he said, his tone making it clear that he wasn’t asking permission as much as he was simply letting Carlisle know of his plans.

“Okay,” Carlisle agreed with a slow nod, knowing without having to ask that Emmett would not be talked out of what he planned to do, his blond brows drawing together as he tried to puzzle together Emmett’s strange behavior. “Does she have anything to do with the hypothetical conversation you wish to have?”

Emmett nodded, his frown deepening as he looked down at his hands. There was no doubt in Carlisle’s mind that Emmett had already weighed the risk of whatever he had planned to do against any potential threat it may bring his family, and whatever conclusion he’d come to, Carlisle noted as he narrowed his eyes in thought, his son had deemed the effort worth the risk. The good doctor pulled back slowly with a frown, realizing that what held his son so quiet now wasn’t a fear of hurting the family but rather a worry that he may be betraying the confidence of the human he wished to protect.

“How do you know if suspicions are more than just suspicions?” Emmett asked, looking up at Carlisle.

“I’m going to need a little bit more to go on than that,” Carlisle told him with a shake of his head. “What are you suspicious about?”

“Hypothetically,” Emmett hedged.

“Of course.”

“If someone . . . a teenager . . . were to look as though they were in pain a lot, but trying to hide it and changed the subject every time the topic of their parents came up . . . would you suspect abuse?”

“You think one of Bella’s friends is being abused?” Carlisle asked as he sat back in his chair, his brows pulled together in a deep frown, his eyes wide.

“That’s just it,” Emmett sighed. “I don’t know. I have my suspicions, but I don’t know for certain, and I don’t want to say anything if I’m wrong.”

“I can understand that.” Carlisle released a deep breath through his nose as he studied his son. “Have there been any other signs, anything else that increases your suspicions?”

“This stays just between us, at least until I know more?” he asked, his tone making it clear that he needed the reassurance of privacy.

“Of course, Emmett.” Carlisle wasn’t used to seeing his son, his family’s protector, looking so uncertain.

“Every time I see her, she looks absolutely exhausted. She tries to hide it with makeup, but you know that’s pretty useless against our kind.”

“Yes,” Carlisle said with a bit of amusement, remembering how Bella had tried to hide a bruise after she had quite literally walked into a door.

Emmett chuckled as he nodded, and Carlisle knew the man sitting across from him had followed his line of thought. “You think she’ll still do that when she’s one of us? She’ll take out the door.”

Carlisle laughed. “I hope not. Now back to your friend. Aside from those three things, is there anything else?”

“You think I’m overreacting?” Emmett asked, his eyes narrowed, his lips pinched as though he were trying to determine if he was, in fact, overreacting or not.

“Not at all, it’s better to be cautious than to let someone you know suffer in silence,” Carlisle said wisely and watched Emmett nod.

“This isn’t really a sign of abuse, but it still bothers me.” Carlisle nodded for him to continue, waiting in silence as Emmett gathered his thoughts. “She fell a few days ago, sprained her ankle on the stairs. I carried her, I wrapped up her ankle and she was . . . surprised. She said no one had ever done anything like that for her before. I wanted to ask more, but . . . it was as though she’s been left alone far too often to take care of herself.”

Carlisle sighed; he could understand Emmett’s concern. The pieces added up to the same two suspicions for him as well: abuse or neglect. Either one was disheartening. He had met most of Bella’s friends when he had been asked to speak for career day at the high school. There were only two people who sprang immediately to mind: Jessica Stanley and Angela Weber. He had met Jessica’s parents once when the girl had been brought in for a laceration on her arm; they both doted on her and called her “their little princess”. That left Angela. She was a shy girl, quiet; her eyes were intelligent and captivating. He couldn’t remember having met her parents before though, remembering vaguely that the few times he had seen her enter the hospital late at night she had been alone.

“What do you intend to do?” Carlisle asked Emmett.

“You know who I’m talking about, don’t you?” Emmett said with a grimace of displeasure.

“It’s not very hard to put the pieces together. But as you’ve requested, I will not say anything until you know more.” Carlisle stood and walked toward the back wall behind his desk, looking at the picture of Esme that hung there. “You’re going to big brother her, aren’t you?” he asked as he turned around, the faintest smile tipping his lips up at the corners, a single brow arched as he pinned his son with a knowing stare.

“What else can I do?” Emmett asked before grinning. “Everyone needs a big brother.”

“Just be careful, Emmett and remember that I’m always here if you need me,” Carlisle reminded him with a nod of approval.

Emmett nodded as he stood to leave. “Will do,” he said as he turned toward the door, stopping to turn back with his hand on the handle. "I'm going to spend the day with her," he said with a shrug as he met Carlisle’s gaze. “We still have that project to work on,” he added. "Tonight?" he asked, in reference to the sparring match his father had requested earlier that day, and Carlisle offered him a silent nod of agreement. “Carlisle, I . . . thank you,” he offered with a quick smile and a short nod before disappearing into the hall.

Carlisle followed Emmett to the door, watching his son for a moment longer before closing the door of his office and returning to his desk. He reached into the leather briefcase that stood open on the small collapsible table under the window. Retrieving his leather-bound journal, he unwound the leather string and lifted the silk ribbon from between the pages, sighing internally as he reached for the fountain pen sitting next to his keyboard, disbelief and concern commanding his thoughts.

 

_January 30, 2009_

_I have no words. I am sitting here with one hand over my mouth and the other holding my pen as I write, and I feel very . . . conflicted. Emmett finally came to me today, to my office at the hospital, in fact. I have never seen him so unsettled. When he finally spoke to me, finally gave voice to his concerns, I must admit that the only thing that kept me from reacting as a father is my training as a doctor. For my son to have seen the signs that led him to suspect abuse or neglect is troubling enough, but for the person he suspects it of to be Angela Weber . . ._

_I have met Angela a few times, the first, of course, being at the career day held at Forks High School. She is an intelligent girl, very sweet, very quiet. To think of someone willingly bringing harm to her, or abandoning her, is beyond my ability to comprehend. Emmett, of course, has taken it upon himself to be a big brother to her, to protect her, and I cannot say I’m unhappy about it. I still remember the boy in nineteen-sixty-five, Sean Mullins. He was the only human in that school that Emmett got along with. He even brought him home once. I wasn’t certain what Emmett’s plan had been, but when we both discovered his abuse, and I found the evidence of his internal bleeding caused by the repeated blows to his kidneys and abdomen—It was only by the grace of God, and Rosalie’s tempering hand, that kept Emmett from killing the boy’s father._

_To think of the same thing happening to Angela makes it very difficult for me to think clearly. For anyone to harm their own child is incomprehensible. Even the human parents who utilize corporal punishment make it hard for me to be civil. I understand the method and that the desire is not to bring harm, but that understanding doesn’t make me like it. I would never raise a hand to my children, not in that manner. Sparring, however, is a different story, and Emmett has agreed to spar with me tonight. I need to work out my frustrations, and Emmett wishes to talk more with me about his observations, somewhere that we can both be alone. He doesn’t want anyone else to know of his suspicions yet, not until he can either confirm or deny them._

 

**~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~**

 

 “What are you doing?” Rosalie hissed, cornering Emmett in the hallway after school when he made to follow Angela down the hall. “She’s a human, Emmett. She’s not one of us!”

Her eyes spat fire, angered that he might be endangering their family and not understanding his sudden fascination with the human girl. She was in no way worried that he fancied himself in love with the girl; a vampire’s heart was not so fickle. His attention to her though was still unnerving, and she wanted to know what he was thinking.

“She’s sweet, fun to talk to, that’s all,” he shrugged, watching the girl in question disappear around the corner, oblivious to the fact that she was the topic of their conversation.

“Don’t give me that, Emmett McCarty Cullen,” Rosalie said, keeping her voice low. “You’re following her around, guarding her. Even Jasper’s commented on it, and you know he’s usually the last one to speak.”

“Rosie,” he cupped her silken cheeks and kissed her gently, slowly, the embrace a promise of more to come. “I don’t want to say anything yet. I don’t want to be wrong. Can you understand that?”

Rosalie pulled back, her brows furrowing in confusion as she looked at her husband. He didn’t want to be wrong? Thinking over the past two weeks about his behavior and what she herself had seen, the pieces began to fall into place. The way he watched Angela, his eyes studying her face, her movements; the way he guarded her and walked close to her as though to warn others away . . .

“You think she’s being hurt,” Rosalie’s voice was soft and surprised, her tone holding the slightest note of concern. “Don’t deny it,” she said when he opened his mouth to argue. “You’re acting around her the same way you acted around Bella after we took care of James. I didn’t think there was another of our kind in Forks.”

“There isn’t,” Emmett told her, taking her hand and tucking it into the crook of his elbow as he led her toward the doors.

“Then why would you think . . . abuse?” she asked as another piece fell into place. “By who? Ben?”

“Pfft. Not hardly.” They stopped beside his Jeep, and he held the passenger door open for her, waiting as she climbed inside before closing the door.

“Then who?” she asked as he slid behind the wheel and started the engine. “Her parents? Emmett,” Rosalie shook her head as she looked at him.

“Like I said, Rose, I don’t know for sure. I have suspicions; that’s all they are right now. Just be nice to her, okay? For me?” he asked when she shook her head in disbelief.

“I’m not going to be buddy-buddy with her,” Rosalie told him, acquiescing to his request with noted protest.

“I’m not asking you to. You don’t have to be sisterly or anything, just be nice. Give her a chance; I think you’ll like her.”

“Must you be everyone’s big brother?” she asked with a heavy sigh.

“Hey, don’t knock it,” he grinned. “Big brothers are awesome, and I’m the best,” he told her smiling when she laughed.

“You owe me,” she told him and stared at him lustfully. “And I owe Edward a headache. Nosy little bastard.”

“What are you planning, Rosalie?” he asked with a laugh.

“Sex . . .  on the roof . . .  above his room,” she said, pausing for effect as a slow grin curled her lips up at the corners.

“You are an evil little thing when you want to be,” he told her with a chuckle.

“And you love it,” she replied with a knowing smile.

 

**~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~**

 

Angela closed her eyes as she came to a stop in front of her locker, pressing her palm flat against the cool metal door. Everything felt slowed down, difficult to process, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t remember anything that had happened that day before arriving here in front of her locker. She was exhausted to the point of tears, feeling at once both freezing cold and burning hot. Three days, she thought, blinking as she stared at the combination knob of her locker door, struggling to bring it into focus.

She hadn’t slept in three days. The constant agony of her migraines had denied her any respite at all and the new drug she’d been prescribed by yet another new doctor had only served to keep her awake against her will. _Relpax_. The doctor hadn’t told her anything about it at all, as though whether she knew about the medicine or not was of no concern to him. And her own research online, Angela thought as she was finally able to get the combination in correctly and open her locker door, had revealed that in only point-one percent of cases-–not even enough to be listed in the drug’s extensive warning information-–it caused insomnia.

“Lucky me to be that point-one percent,” Angela said sarcastically as she put her laptop into her locker before taking it out again. She couldn’t remember if she was going to class or going home.

She blinked, her brows furrowing when a voice came to her at a distance, and she turned her head, frowning in confusion to see Rosalie standing beside her. Why was she there? Were they supposed to meet for something? She watched as the blonde frowned, her eyes narrowing as her lips moved, but she couldn’t hear what was being said over the ringing in her ears.

“Angela?” Rosalie called to her again, and Angela blinked, nodding to indicate that she could hear her. “Are you all right?”

“All right?” Angela repeatedly, confused by the question and turned back to glance at her open locker and the laptop still caught in her grip. “I can’t remember what I’m supposed to be doing,” she thought out loud, her words slurring together.

“Can’t remember?” Rosalie repeated, her sharp tone calling Angela’s attention and she turned her head to look at the girl beside her.

“Remember?” Angela repeated.

Rosalie reached out to steady Angela, gripping her shoulder gently when the human girl began to rock slightly on her feet, listening as she hummed softly, the sound confused as though she didn’t understand what was happening. Rosalie had only approached Angela because of the unsteady rhythm of her heart, the sound of it sluggish, to ask if she was all right. She hadn’t known what kind of an answer she would get from the girl, uncertain if she truly cared, but she had given Emmett her word that she would be nicer to Angela, would look out for her, and that’s all she was doing.

“Angela?” Rosalie called to her again, her eyes widening when Angela’s face paled as her heart skipped a beat. “When was the last time you slept?” she asked sharply, trying to keep Angela focused, her concern growing as she watched the girl’s dark eyes turn glassy.

“Slept?” Angela repeated, giving her head a quick shake before turning her attention back to her locker. “Do I have class?” she asked as she pulled her laptop out of her locker, hugging the device against her chest only to move as though she intended to put it back.

“No, school is over,” Rosalie answered, catching the laptop easily in one hand when it slipped from the girl’s slack hold. “Angela, look at me,” she demanded, narrowing her eyes as she pulled on the training she’d received decades ago when she’d decided to attend medical school back in the 1950s. “When was the last time you slept?” she repeated her question from moments ago as she watched Angela close and lock her locker door, seeming to be confused by her own actions.

“What day is it?” the girl asked instead, breathing heavily as she braced one hand against her locker door.

“It’s Friday,” Rosalie told her with a shake of her head. “Give me your keys; I’m driving you home.”

“Home?” she repeated with confusion, passing over her car keys as though she were unaware of what she was doing.

Rosalie’s head snapped to the side as she looked over her shoulder, frowning when she caught sight of Alice and Jasper running down the deserted hall toward her, careful to keep their movements to a human’s speed.

“She’s going to pass out!” Alice called to her, keeping her voice only loud enough for Rosalie to hear.

Rosalie turned back to Angela, watching as the girl’s complexion turned ashen, her eyes closing as she crumpled to the ground. Jasper was at her side in an instant, catching Angela as she fell and swinging her up into his arms. He frowned as he looked down at her, his eyes widening as he shook his head and looked up to meet Rosalie’s gaze.

“She should weigh more than this,” he said with concern, his brows furrowed in confusion. He growled low when Angela whimpered in her sleep, the girl curling closer to him. “Alice?” he asked, turning his gaze on his wife.

“I can only see her when I’m watching you or Emmett,” Alice told them, meeting Rosalie’s gaze, her brow furrowed in frustration. “I can’t see _her_.”

“Why not?” Rosalie asked, reaching for Angela’s bags and lifting them from the floor.

“I don’t know,” Alice denied with a shake of her head. “Emmett’s been spending more time with her lately, and when I realized that I couldn’t see her, I started focusing on him, and then on you, in order to see her.”

Rosalie arched her brow when she felt Alice’s attention on her and turned to glance at her as they walked toward the doors. “What?”

“Emmett’s been more attentive to Angela lately but you weren’t; you seemed to be actively avoiding her, but now you won’t anymore. He’s worried about her and so are you, but neither of you will say why,” she said with an edge of frustration, leaving her unspoken question hanging in the air between them.

“He’s been guarding her,” Jasper added, nodding his thanks when Rosalie held the door open for him as he carried Angela outside. “Emmett, Edward, and Esme already left to go hunting this weekend,” he informed her. “Alice and I are heading out as soon as we get home to change. Will you be joining us?”

Rosalie looked down at Angela, watching as Jasper carried her, and frowned in thought as she remembered her promise to Emmett. Being nicer to Angela didn’t mean being her babysitter, but seeing her condition and watching her pass out had actually worried her. She hadn’t expected to feel any emotion toward the girl at all, let alone worry. Even if she wanted to go tonight, she knew there was no way she’d be comfortable leaving Angela alone.

Shaking her head as she unlocked and opened the front passenger door of Angela’s car, she watched as Jasper lowered the girl in his arms to the seat, bending in over her to lock the seatbelt in place around her. “No,” Rosalie said with an internal sigh. “Tomorrow, maybe. I’ll head out as soon as I’m certain that I don’t need to take her to Carlisle.”

Alice nodded to her, a knowing smile curling her lips. Rosalie rolled her eyes as she dropped Angela’s bags and laptop onto the backseat, her school bag and purse set down next to them.

“You’ll let Emmett know?” she asked, watching as Jasper nodded once in agreement. “Thanks,” she offered as she slipped behind the wheel.

It didn’t take her long to make the drive to Angela’s house, tucking the girl into her bed a few moments later. The house unsettled her, Rosalie thought, staring at the bedroom through narrowed eyes as she tried to understand why. Bleach, Windex, the familiar orange oil that was used to both clean and polish wood floors and furniture, the familiar artificial scent of lemon Pledge . . . they were all familiar scents, cleaners that Esme used, but why did they bother her so much, Rosalie thought as she stepped out through the open door of Angela’s room.

She glanced back over her shoulder, looking at the girl lying tucked beneath the blankets on her bed, her dark hair fanned out on the pillow around her. Laundry soap, fabric softener, dryer sheets-–again, all familiar scents, she thought with confusion as she moved out into the hall.

“Familiar,” Rosalie whispered to herself as her eyes widened.

Every scent was familiar; every scent was something that she knew. _That_ was what was unsettling her, she realized as her brows furrowed. She knew Angela’s scent, knew it as well as she knew Bella’s, as well as she knew the scents of her own family. There should be scents here that she _didn’t_ know. The scents of the girl’s parents, of their body wash or soaps, the lingering scents of something that spoke of the house being lived in, being occupied by someone other than Angela, but there wasn’t.

“She’s alone?” Rosalie asked in a whisper of confusion. “Why is she alone?”

She returned to Angela’s room, watching the girl as she slept, before turning to study the room around her. She narrowed her gaze as she stepped toward the desk standing against the wall by the door, her eyes focused on a collection of postcards sitting in a business card holder on the desk. There was something about the cards, Rosalie thought as she lifted the stack from its holder, she didn’t like them and she didn’t know why she thought as she looked through the collection of international cards. There were only seven cards, four from Christmases over the past years and three sent for Angela’s birthdays. Each card said pretty much the same thing, after the greetings of Merry Christmas or Happy Birthday were the words: “ _Keep the house clean and remember that you are a reflection on us. Do not dishonor us.”_

The cards weren’t signed “Mom and Dad”, but rather “Rev. and Mrs. Weber” instead. Shaking her head as she replaced the cards in their holder, Rosalie looked around the room. Angela was only sixteen, which meant that her parents had been abandoning her since she was at least twelve. The knowledge of that alone bothered her greatly; she knew what it felt like to be little more than a stage piece to one’s parents. Her own parents had been attentive to her, certainly, but had always demanded a level of perfection that seemed impossible to achieve.

She found her attention drawn to a book that sat on the far end of the girl’s desk and, as Rosalie took a closer look at it, she realized that it was her journal. She had never been the type of person to invade another’s privacy in such a way, but a part of her demanded that she open the leather-bound book. Looking back over her shoulder to make certain that Angela was still asleep, she lifted the cover and read the first entry before dropping the stiff leather cover and refusing to read anymore.

 

0=0=0=0=0=0

_June 15, 2006_

_It’s my birthday today. I was hoping that I might at least get a call from them, hear their voices telling me happy birthday. They did call, but it wasn’t to wish me a happy birthday. My grades dropped last semester and I closed the year with a three point nine. My mother made certain that I knew of my failure and my father lectured me for nearly an hour about what a disappointment I am._

_My pain is nearly constant and it’s growing worse every day, but if I even hint of it in their presence, I am made to feel as though I am the worst person they have ever met. All I want is their approval, their love. Will I ever be deserving of it? I can’t help wondering sometimes why they had me, as the only emotion I ever seem to inspire in them is shame. Am I truly so bad?_

0=0=0=0=0=0

 

Rosalie felt the desire to hit something, to vent her anger. Angela was fourteen when she wrote that. Her brow furrowed as she stopped pacing. Angela had mentioned being in near-constant pain, but from what? The girl in the bed stirred, a whimper drawing from her as she curled in on herself, and Rosalie was at her side in the next instant. She brushed her fingers down Angela’s cheek, surprised at the burning heat of her skin. Far beyond the usual warmth human skin held, she knew Angela had to have a low-grade fever.

“Angela,” she said and waited to see if the girl was awake.

“It hurts,” Angela whimpered, turning on her side toward Rosalie, as though she were seeking her out.

“I’m right here,” Rosalie promised as she smoothed the girl’s hair back over her shoulder, resting her hand on her cheek and smoothing her thumb slowly back and forth over the girl’s temple. “What hurts? Do you need medicine?” she asked, frowning in concern when Angela winced, whimpering as she curled closer.

“Nothing works,” she whimpered, and Rosalie could smell the salt of her tears. “So tired.”

“You just go to sleep, okay?” Rosalie soothed her and rubbed her hand up and down the girl’s arm. “Just go to sleep.”

She sat by Angela’s side until the girl had fallen back into her exhausted slumber. There wasn’t anything she could do. Shaking her head, Rosalie thought about taking her to Carlisle, but what if there wasn’t anything he could do? Every now and then Angela stirred, shifting as though she were trying to get closer to her and Rosalie did the only thing that she could think of. Turning in her seat in order to lie back on the pillows, she wasn’t surprised one bit when the human girl curled against her side, and wrapped her arm around her back as she stared up at the ceiling.

Rosalie didn’t notice that she had begun to sing to Angela, knowing only that the girl seemed to relax, sleeping easier and deeper as she quieted. She had wanted to be mad at Emmett-–after all, anger was easier, familiar-–but as much as she may have wanted to, she couldn’t deny it any longer. The things Emmett had spoken to her about, the feeling he had told her that made him believe she needed him . . . she could feel it, too. It was as though there was some part of Angela that whispered to her, crying out for protection, begging not to be left alone. Emmett had been right, she thought, that feeling-–so subtle and quiet-–could only be felt in moments of stillness.

“Maybe we’re wrong,” she told the sleeping girl softly. “But maybe we’re not. If I know Emmett as well as I do, he’s already claimed you as his sister, whether you ever become one of us or not. He won’t let you be alone,” she promised, pressing her lips together as she shook her head on the pillow and realized a truth that surprised even herself. “Neither will I.”

 


	2. Chapter 1 "Little Things"

A.N.: The Twilight Saga, both the books and movies, and all recognizable characters are the sole property of Stephanie Meyer. While I am borrowing the characters for a little while, this story is my own. No copyright infringement is intended. This story is canon AU, the characters and, a few moments in the stories, are a blend between the books and movies. Angela Weber, for instance, is the movie version, and not the book’s original description. Though this story will, at times, show all the relationships both familial and romantic between the couples, the main focus is on Angela Weber and how she becomes a member of the Cullen family.

Summary: Emmett had never thought much of Angela Weber until he was paired with her for a history assignment in class. She had always been just another one of Bella’s friends, someone whom he looked out for because Bella did. But then one day he learned that the girl who always seemed so silent was the one person who was screaming the loudest, and what kind of protector would he be to ignore the cries of an innocent in pain?

 

 

Roses in Winter

By WhisperingWolf

**_Book One: Shattering Glass_ **

Chapter 1

_Little Things_

 

 

Angela closed her eyes as she clenched her fists, fighting for a calm she didn’t feel. How many times today had she jumped at shadows? How many times had she listened for noises she didn’t recognize or voices that were out of place? This was stupid, she told herself with irritation, slamming the heel of her right hand against her steering wheel. There was no reason for her to be afraid, but no matter how many times she’d told herself that she was fine, the feeling of being watched and followed wouldn’t go away.

There was a part of her that wanted to call Emmett, wished that she had asked him to go with her, or at the very least, told him where she was going. It was Wednesday, the only day she had available this week to make the hour-long drive to Port Angeles in order to go through the college’s library–-specifically the historical law section. Once every few weeks, she made this drive, and not once had she ever been as bothered by it as she was today.

“Damnit,” she whispered as she retrieved her cell phone from inside her purse and opened the phone app. “Don’t be a baby,” she told herself as she closed out of her call list and put the device back in her purse. “You’re fine. There’s no one there. You’re just being paranoid.”

Angela uttered a surprised yelp a moment later, jumping when her phone rang, the sound of the ringtone unbearably loud in the quiet of her car, and scrambled to answer it before the call went to voicemail.

“H-Hello?” she greeted as she tried to calm her racing heart.

“Hey, half pint.”

Angela froze, blinked as she pulled the phone away to double check her caller ID. “Emmett?” she asked as she brought the phone back to her ear. The sound of his chuckle soothed her.

“Who else calls you half pint?” he teased her.

Angela laughed as she calmed further. “No one but you,” she teased back.

The moments passed by as silence fell between them, and just when she was ready to check if he was still there, he spoke.

“You didn’t say much today,” he mused thoughtfully. “Not that you usually say much but . . . are you all right?”

She closed her eyes, her brow furrowing, and bit down on her lips as she nodded before remembering that he couldn’t see her. “I’m okay,” she offered quietly, praying he didn’t hear the way her voice trembled. “I uh . . . I’m having kind of an off day, that’s all.” She looked up at the sun visor as she blinked back tears of relief, thanking her friend silently for somehow knowing that she needed him. “Is that Rosalie?” she asked, hearing the girl’s voice in the background.

“Yeah,” he replied with a chuckle. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked and Angela nodded.

“I’m all right,” she assured him, before laughing at herself. “I’m um, I’m at the Port Angeles campus of Peninsula College. I wanted to look through their historical law library to make sure we’ve got all the research done for the paper,” she told him.

She could feel the change immediately, the way the silence between them seemed tense as though Emmett was trying to shield her. “You say the word, half pint, and I’ll meet you there,” he offered, the playfulness gone from his tone.

She bit her lip as she held the phone to her ear, looking down at her hand gripping the steering wheel. She wanted to say yes so badly, wanted him there just so she wouldn’t be alone anymore, but she couldn’t bring herself to say the words.

“No, I’m okay,” she replied, her voice breathy and quiet. “I uh . . . I should get that research done.”

“I mean it,” he told her. “You need me there, I’m there.”

“I know.” She nodded as she took in a calming breath, releasing it as slowly and silently as she could. “Thank you, Emmett,” she whispered.

“Anytime,” he replied. “Call me before you leave there, okay?” he asked, and she nodded before remembering that he couldn’t see her. “Call me when you get home.”

“I will,” she promised. “Thank you, Emmett,” she said as she ended the call. Angela took in a deep breath, releasing it in a heavy exhalation as she returned the phone to her purse. “How do you always know?” she asked with a shake of her head.

 

**~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~**

  


Rosalie narrowed her eyes as she watched Emmett stare at the phone in his hand, his attention still fixed on the short conversation he’d had with Angela. “What?” she asked him, her brow furrowing when he shook his head.

“I don’t know,” he replied, turning to meet her gaze. “Something just doesn’t feel right.”

“You still want to go to her?” she asked as she crossed her arms over her chest. “It’d be faster to run then it would be to take the car,” she told him.

“I almost wish Alice was here,” he said with a frown.

“Why?” Rosalie asked dismissively. “It’s not like she can see her.”

Rosalie blinked at the fierceness of her mate’s gaze. “What do you mean Alice can’t see her?” he demanded.

“She didn’t tell you?” Rosalie asked with a frown. “I guess not,” she answered her own question, as she rolled her eyes at herself. “Alice can’t see Angela at all in her visions. She told me she’s tried but any image she does get takes a hell of a lot of focus and is blurred at best. She watches all of us and Bella and Jessica in order to see Angela.”

“Why the hell can’t she see Angela?” Emmett demanded, and looked back to his ringing phone. “Alice,” he greeted as he answered the call on speaker.

“I don’t know why I can’t see her, and I can’t help you decide to go to her or not,” Alice told him. “What made you call her?”

Emmett shook his head. “I don’t really know,” he answered with a shrug. “I’ve just felt . . .”

“Edgy,” Jasper filled in for him from the other side of the call. “Anytime she was out of your sight today, you became irritated. I can’t say that she was any better,” he added.

“I wasn’t imagining things,” Rosalie said as she narrowed her eyes. “Angela was anxious today, wasn’t she?” she asked Jasper. “More than she usually is?”

“Something was bothering her, yes,” Jasper replied. “She was . . . skittish,” he offered, pausing as though it was the best description he could offer.

“If Edward hadn’t waited so long to hunt, he would’ve been there with us today to read her,” Alice said. “He’ll be home by sun down, and so will we.”

“Alice,” Emmett began.

“I’m watching her when I can, Emmett,” Alice promised him. “You have no idea how frustrating it is not to be able to see her.”

“I thought you said were going to ask Carlisle about that,” Rosalie reminded Alice, silence greeting her in return. “Alice?”

“I haven’t yet,” Alice replied. “Something about my inability to see her feels familiar, I just don’t know why yet. I’ll talk with him once I sort it out.”

The phone beeped a few seconds later, signaling the call had ended. Rosalie crossed her arms over her chest as she stared at the floor. She hadn’t needed to tell Emmett about Angela collapsing at school a few days ago, her husband joining her as soon as Jasper had told him what had happened. She had watched as Emmett sat down beside Angela on the bed, tucking the girl’s hair behind her ear before lying back on the pillows. Angela, Rosalie recalled with a frown, had somehow known he was there, turning to curl against him in her sleep.

Emmett hadn’t hesitated one bit to wrap Angela in his arms, to tuck the human girl against his side and let her sleep with her head on his chest. Had it been anyone else, Rosalie knew without a doubt she would have been bothered by it. So, it begged the question: why _wasn’t_ she bothered by Angela doing so? Better yet, she thought-–her brows knitting together in a thoughtful frown—why was she so concerned about Angela? Why did she care if one human girl looked rested or not? How was it that she had felt Angela’s warmth still wrapped around her hours later after she’d returned to her own house, and why had she been bothered by Angela’s strange behavior today? None of the concern she felt for Angela, or her attachment to the human girl, made any sense to her.

She heaved a mental sigh as she shifted her gaze to the side, watching as Emmett stood from his seat at his desk and walked toward the wall of glass that stood open on the other side of their room. He looked ready to jump to the ground below, but he hesitated, pulled back, and Rosalie realized that he was just as confused as she was. She nodded to herself as she looked away. She knew Edward was getting irritated that both she and Emmett were blocking him from reading their thoughts, but she didn’t care. Like hell was she going to let him read her thoughts before she’d figured them out for herself.

“Rose?”

She looked back to Emmett when he called to her. He shook his head as he frowned and she realized he was asking her what he should do.

“I don’t know,” she replied as she shook her head.

“She sounded scared,” he told her, his brow furrowed. “She said she was having an off day, but . . .”

She met his gaze when he looked at her. “But you’re worried,” she finished his thought. “She said she would call you like you asked her to,” she reminded him. “But that’s not enough for you,” she said with confusion.

“It feels . . . “ He shook his head.

“I know,” she agreed with a nod. She had felt it, too, the undeniable suspicion that Angela was in danger and she didn’t like it anymore than her husband did. “I’ll look after her tonight,” she promised him. “You need to hunt.”

He smiled then, his lips pulling up in a lopsided grin as he stepped toward her. “I’ll stay in cell range as much as possible,” he told her as he framed her face with his hands, tilting her head up to kiss her. “Take care of our girl.”

She rolled her eyes as she pushed him away, a breathy laugh sounding as she shook her head. “Go,” she commanded him, chuckling silently as he disappeared out of the open wall. Her amusement fell away as her brow furrowed, her eyes narrowing in confusion. “Our girl?” she repeated. Why did that sound so . . . right?

 

**~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~**

She’d been home for a few hours now. She’d tried playing music, even put on a familiar movie, but nothing could make the feeling of being watched go away. It had been there the entire time she was in the college library, disappearing for a few minutes when she was on the highway headed home, only to return stronger than before when she was driving down the street to her house. Angela frowned as she stepped into the kitchen, turning on the switch for electric kettle as she reached for a mug from the cabinet and the container of loose leaf tea on the counter.

Emmett had known something was wrong when she called him to tell him that she was home, but what could she say? Nothing that didn’t make her sound crazy and paranoid, Angela thought with a roll of her eyes as she turned around to face the sink. She sighed as she rubbed her hand over her eyes. For a few moments, at least, she had been calm and comforted, but that disappeared as soon as she’d hung up the phone, the end of the call taking away her connection to Emmett.

“It’s not like there’s anything there,” she told herself as she put a teaspoon of the jasmine oolong tea into the metal ball, dropping it into the mug before pouring hot water over it. “It’s not even like you want that, he’s a friend, a . . . “

Her words trailed off into silence as she returned the teapot to its stand, and released a heavy sigh as she switched the focus of her thoughts. Who would be following her? That was the logical place to start, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t remove herself enough from the sensation of being watched to reason away her own paranoia. That’s all it was, she told herself—paranoia. And with that assertion had come the overwhelming belief that she was being self-centered for no good reason.

Closing her eyes as she fisted her left hand by her side, she caught the chain for the tea ball, holding it under her right thumb as she gripped the handle of her mug and tipped it over the sink, letting just enough of the tea pour out that she had no fear of spilling it when she walked. Over the past month, her distaste for being in the kitchen had grown to such an extent that she only came in here when it was absolutely necessary. The feeling of being watched was stronger in here, the window above the sink and in the middle of the back door leading outside, leaving her feeling open and exposed.

All she could see now was her own reflection in the glass, the darkness of the night turning the clear pane into a mirror. But no matter what rationale she tried to use, she couldn’t shake the feeling of being unsafe when she was in the kitchen. She had found ways to block that feeling everywhere else, to convince herself that she was fine, that she was safe. But in the kitchen, all of her reasoning disappeared until she was left feeling trapped and alone.

“Oh, just stop it!” Angela snapped at herself. “What the hell is wrong with me?”

She didn’t turn off the light as she left the room, making her way through the house, checking the doors and windows before heading upstairs. The only thing she wanted to do was curl up with her favorite book, drink her tea, and forget about being hunted for one night. Hunted? She thought, coming to a stop in the middle of the hall. Where had that word come from?

“I’m driving myself insane,” she thought aloud as she stepped into her bedroom. “If you’re not careful, Angela, someone’s going to give you a nice white coat to hug yourself in,” she said as she set her tea on her desk and moved toward the small bookshelf by her bed.

It was gone. The place where her rather well-worn copy of _The Mists of Avalon_ normally sat was empty. She could easily have left it downstairs or taken it to school and forgotten it in her locker, Angela reasoned. So why did its very absence bother her so much? Why was she letting _all of this_ bother her so much? You’re being paranoid for no good reason, she told herself as she turned away from the bookshelf, focusing her attention on her bed. The book could be tucked under a pillow or have fallen to the floor if she’d fallen asleep reading it. There was a logical explanation for its absence, there had to be.

Gasping and spinning around to face the window behind her, Angela stared at the dark glass with wide eyes. That _wasn’t_ her imagination, she thought as she stared at the window. It _couldn’t_ be. She had felt the presence of someone in her room, knew that someone was there-– _had_ been there-–and even if they were gone now, it didn’t take away the terror that filled her mind, the chill that spread through her to freeze her blood in her veins as she trembled, unable to move, barely able to breathe.

“Don’t do it,” she whispered to herself even as she reached a trembling hand to the lamp on her bedside table. “You’re just imagining things,” she said out loud, wincing as she gripped the lamp’s switch between her fingers.

The click of the lamp switch sounded like a gunshot in the stillness of her room, the darkness that flooded in through the window blinding her momentarily and she blinked quickly in an effort to force her eyes to adjust. She was scared for nothing, she told herself, looking out the window and seeing nothing there. Reason told her that she was too far away, logic reminding her that she was on the second floor and the only way to get to her window from the outside was the old oak tree that would tap against her window in the rains and winds that were commonplace in the town of Forks.

She stepped forward slowly, her brows furrowing as she moved carefully closer to the window. The more she tried to tell herself that she was seeing things, that her mind was drawing patterns where there were none to be found, the more she found that the smudge against the window looked distinctly like a handprint and as she came to a stop in front of the window, she realized that it was on the other side of the glass.

Closing her eyes tightly as she took in a steadying breath, she forced herself to look outside, to stare at the tree outside her window and the ground down below. At first, she didn’t see anything, but as she kept watching she saw the shadow of something moving away from the bottom of the tree. She choked back a cry of alarm as she stumbled back, certain she had seen the shadow of a man-–it was too large to be an animal or a woman-–dash away from the tree and move _toward_ her house.

Covering her mouth with her hand, Angela fought to stay silent, tried not to scream as she shook her head and stepped back. Turning away from the window as she scrambled to retrieve her car keys from her desk, she ran from the room. She couldn’t silence the choked scream that came from her when she heard the rattle of the back door, nearly tripping on the stairs, as she ran for the front door.

The keys fell from her trembling hands, her teeth chattering as she scrambled to pick them up as she fled the house, the door slamming behind her. She almost dropped them a second time before she was able reached the car, her hands shaking so badly that it took her three tries to get the door unlocked. She didn’t bother with her seatbelt as she struggled to get the key in the ignition, her hand refusing to hold the bit of carved metal that it took her more than a few tries just to get the key to turn before she caught sight of the shadow again. Was it coming closer or running away? She couldn’t tell.

She was shaking so badly her teeth were chattering, her heart beating so hard it was painful. She couldn’t stop shaking, could barely pull the air she needed to breathe into her burning lungs as she stared at the place she had last seen the shadow, her eyes impossibly wide. It was well past two AM—too late to call anyone, too late to just show up on someone’s porch, she thought as she uttered a harsh cry of relief when she was able to get the car started, her tires squealing as she backed out into the street.

“Stupid,” she cursed herself as she yanked the seatbelt across her chest, slipping it into place as tears stung behind her eyes.

She sped through the empty streets, barely remembering to stop for traffic lights and stop signs as she made the five-minute drive across the small town. It could easily have been her mind playing tricks on her, an optical illusion created by the moonlight breaking through the thick cover of clouds and trees, but no matter what rationale she tried to use, the result was still the same. She didn’t feel safe in that house and she was beyond terrified to be alone, to be in a place that left her feeling so exposed.

Pulling into a parking space in front of Fork’s Hospital, Angela turned off the car and bowed her head down over the steering wheel. She felt close to breaking, tears slipping down her cheeks unbidden, and took in a trembling breath as she fought for a calm she didn’t feel. She had been coming here since she was twelve. It was a place where she could sleep, a place where she wouldn’t be alone, even if only for a little while.

This was the only place she felt safe, the nurses on staff always leaving the same room open for her so that she never had to worry about finding somewhere to sleep, but the last thing she wanted to do was go in there crying. They wouldn’t understand and how could she explain it to them? What could she even say? That she had been scared by a shadow? Just the thought of it sounded stupid enough, but saying it out loud would make her sound insane.

Biting her lips as she wiped the tears from her face, Angela blinked quickly, forcing her emotions back as best she could. Her hands were still shaking as she unclipped her seatbelt. More than once, she had to bite the inside of her cheek just to fight back her tears. She couldn’t remember if she locked her house, Angela thought as she emerged from her car, tucking the keys into her pocket after closing and locking the door. She couldn’t go back there, at least not tonight, she thought as she stared at the street behind her, the darkness feeling as though it was closing in around her. Crossing her arms over her chest, Angela turned around, slipping in silently through the automatic sliding doors of the hospital.

She thought she smiled as she made her way past the nurse’s desk, her steps silent as she walked the familiar path to room two-fourteen. Camille Marks, her favorite among the nurses, had made certain that the room was left open only for her, the other nurses following her lead, though none of them ever spoke to Angela about it, and she’d never said anything, either. Slipping into the room, she felt her chin tremble, her eyes stinging as they watered, and brushed away her tears before they could fall as she climbed into the bed, curling up on her side and facing away from the window as she pulled her knees to her chest.

 

**~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~**

**  
**

Carlisle stilled as he frowned, his attention drawn away from the chart in his hands as he looked up at the familiar scent, the sound of a racing heart and stuttered breaths.

“Angela?” he whispered, his lips forming her name even as his voice remained unheard.

He followed her with his eyes, unable to ignore the knowledge that she truly seemed terrified. He could see her trembling, the motions too delicate for human eyes to detect. He focused his ears on the unsteady staccato rhythm of her heart, her short gasping breaths, as he stared after her in confusion. The scent of salt that hung in the air as she passed by him in the hall bothered him, almost more so than the fact that she hadn’t noticed him standing there.

He moved to follow her, keeping his distance as he watched her slip quietly into room two-fourteen. No patient had ever been put in that room, even when the hospital was near capacity it had always been left open, and now he knew why. That ever-present feeling that there was something the nurses on this floor knew that he didn’t, the weight of a secret in the air—this was it, wasn’t it? Angela was their secret. She was the one they all looked out for.

Carlisle moved closer, standing in just the right place to see her from the hall, watching as she slipped into the bed and curled on her side. Her arms were wrapped over her stomach, her knees pulled halfway to her chest, and under the pale silver light of the moon, he watched the glisten of a tear as it rolled over the bridge of her nose. Why was she so afraid? Why was she _alone_? More importantly, why was she _here_?

“Dr. Cullen.” He turned his head at the sound of Nurse Marks’ surprised tone, watching her as she stepped up to his side with a light blanket folded over her arms. “Is everything all right?” she asked, and he narrowed his eyes, getting the distinct impression that she was trying to pull him away from the room, away from Angela.

“Camille, is Angela sick?” he asked her, needing to understand why the girl would choose to sleep here instead of at home in her own bed.

The woman sighed, her gaze slipping down to the blanket in her arms, and Carlisle knew at once that not only did the nurse beside him know why Angela was there, but it also wasn’t a singular occurrence.

“Give me a minute,” she said quietly before stepping away from him.

He watched Camille as she stepped into the room, letting the blanket she carried fall open before spreading it out to cover the girl in the bed. She stepped to the side, her back to him, her body blocking Angela’s face from his view. He watched her step back a moment later, her hand lingering on Angela’s shoulder as she turned away.

Carlisle pursed his lips as he focused on Angela, Camille’s heartbeat fading into the ambiance of other sounds as Angela’s grew louder. She was calmer now, he noted with some relief, her heartbeat slowing down as he watched her blink slowly. She wasn’t asleep yet, but she would be soon, and he prayed that she would find some peace in her dreams.

“Angela’s been coming here since she was about twelve,” Camille said softly as she stepped from the room, brushing her hand over the edge of the wall inside to turn off the dim amber glow of the single lamp. “Oh,” Camille said with a nod as she glanced behind her. “Yeah, we fixed the lights in there a while ago. The standard bright white fluorescents are too much for her eyes most days,” she told him, and took in a deep breath as she led him far enough away from the door that their conversation wouldn’t disturb the girl inside the room.

Carlisle frowned when she remained silent, her expression such that he could see her indecision, as though she believed she were breaking some kind of confidence. “Camille?” he called to her, watching as she tipped her head up, her eyes closed, before she opened them to meet his gaze.

“There have never been any outward signs of . . . anything,” she began hesitantly, “but she comes here sometimes to sleep. Back in the beginning, she would curl up on a chair, and sometimes I—or another nurse—would take her into the nurse’s lounge. We thought it was just a passing thing, but the pattern kept repeating and she always came in through that door,” she nodded to the main emergency doors behind them, “and room two-fourteen . . . “

“Is the closest to the main entrance without having to search for a room,” Carlisle finished for her, and she nodded.

“We all keep the room open for her, that way she doesn’t have to search for a room, and we all know where she is to keep an eye on her.” She fell silent once more as she turned her head to look back over her shoulder at the room behind her. “In a way,” she told him as she turned back to meet his gaze. “Angela is ours-–a collective daughter of the nurses here, if you will. We all take care of her, look out for her when she’s here. Sit and talk with her when we can.”

“Have her parents said anything about her visits?” he asked and watched as the woman in front of him stiffened, her expression becoming unreadable, her dark green eyes fierce.

“The first few times she came in, a nurse—not anyone who’s here anymore—asked if her parents knew,” she said tightly. “Angela was gone for almost two months before she snuck in again, and she looked scared, as though she were afraid of being caught. That’s when I opened this room for her, and that was when I talked to a friend down at Seattle Memorial and got Carl a rather good opportunity on the nursing staff there.” Carlisle blinked as he stared at her silently. “He transferred out of here a few weeks before you came,” she told him.

She was protecting Angela, he realized, understanding that in her own gentle way, Camille was telling him that she wouldn’t allow him to turn the girl away. Not that he ever would, he thought as he looked away from Angela, turned back to meet the nurse’s gaze.

“How often does she come here?” he asked with concern, divided between wanting to go to Angela’s bedside and needing to know more.

She shook her head as she glanced at the room behind them, pushing her dark blonde hair behind her ear, before meeting his gaze. “I’m not entirely certain, there’s no set pattern to her visits. Maybe three times every couple of months that I’ve seen, the other nurses and I don’t actually talk about it with each other. It’s just a silent understanding that we have to look out for her when she does come.”

Carlisle nodded silently as he turned his head to look at the room, staring in through the open door at the girl lying in the bed. Her heartbeat had slowed considerably since she’d entered barely ten minutes ago, her breathing deep and even. She was finally sleeping, he noted with some relief, though he could still smell the edges of fear that sweetened her blood. He turned to Camille with a nod, reaching out to touch her arm as he handed her the chart in his hands.

“She is safe with me,” he promised her. “I have no intention of turning her away.”

Nodding to the chart in her hands, he told her the patient it belonged to needed to have a new set of blood samples drawn, enough for a battery of tests that would confirm whether or not the new regimen of treatment was working. She nodded her understanding as she stepped past him, only to stop and turn back, her gaze fixed on the half-open door of the room where Angela lay sleeping.

“She’s important to us,” Camille told him softly as she met his gaze. “She’s always had this feeling about her like . . . like she’s barely surviving and doing her best not to let anyone see how much she’s hurting. Just . . . “ Her voice trailed off as her tongue peeked out to touch her top lip, and he could tell she was trying not to cry. “I couldn’t bear to see her fall through the cracks.”

“We won’t let that happen,” he promised her, touching the outside of her arm to draw her attention. “Go on,” he told her softly, nodding to the chart in her hands. “I’ll take care of her.”

He watched her step away, following Camille with his eyes as she made her way down the hall and disappeared into the last patient room on the left. Turning away as he looked back toward the room Angela was in, he stared at the open doorway in silence, his brows drawing together in a deep furrow. Of all the places to find safety in, to find comfort, why this place? Why a hospital, surrounded by the scents of so many solvents and sanitizers, filled with the grating sounds of calls for medical staff and the rushing of nurses and doctors?

Carlisle closed his eyes, the furrow between his brows smoothing out as he took in a deep breath, studying what he could of Angela’s scent before stepping into the room. The silver wash of moonlight fell over the bed, draping Angela in a pale watery blue glow. He moved slowly to sit down on the bed beside her, reaching out to tuck her hair behind her ear as he watched her sleep. She whimpered softly, the sound frightened and pained, as she curled closer to him, and he shushed her gently as he petted her hair.

She didn’t look sickly, he thought as he studied her, brushing the backs of his fingers down over her cheek and frowned. She was warmer than sleep would allow, and he let his hand linger as he studied the heat of her skin. Experience told him she had a fever, her scent told him she wasn’t sick, and when she whimpered again as she curled closer to him, he understood. The fever wasn’t from an illness, at least not from an infection. Stress had caused her fever, and something else was causing her pain. But what and where? There were no injuries he could see, frowning as he allowed for the possibility that her clothes could be hiding bruises or abrasions. And although his experience as a doctor told him that she didn’t weigh nearly enough to be considered healthy, she didn’t appear sickly or anorexic.

“Carlisle.” He turned his head back at the sound of Edward’s voice, watching as his son stepped forward with a heavy quilt in his arms.  “Alice,” he said simply as he stepped further into the room. “And Esme,” he said as he lifted the quilt. “She’s in pain?” he asked, his brow furrowed as Carlisle stood to take the quilt from his arms.

“I believe so, yes,” Carlisle answered as he spread the quilt over Angela, tucking it around her and under her chin. “She has no injuries that I can see, though Rosalie mentioned her being in pain, and so has Alice, though neither know why. Have her thoughts told you—Edward?” he called to his son when Edward moved to stand by the window behind the bed.

Edward shook his head, frowning as he turned away. “Her thoughts,” he began with a deep frown. “I know she’s sleeping and that can confuse what I’m reading from her, but she keeps thinking that someone’s at the window. She doesn’t want to be alone and she’s afraid.” He shook his head as he looked back at Angela. “The only thought prevalent in her mind is that she’s unsafe and that someone is at the window.”

Their eyes turned to the bed when Angela gasped, jerking in her sleep, the scent of her fear filling the room as she clutched at the quilt. Carlisle moved to her side at once, sitting down beside her as he reached out, cupping her cheek in his palm as he smoothed the pad of his thumb over her cheekbone. Tears leaked from her eyes as she choked on sob, her lips trembling as she began to pant, began to fight.

“Shhh,” Carlisle soothed her. “You’re safe, Angela. You’re here with Edward and I. I promise we will allow nothing to harm you.”

“It’s not safe,” she whimpered in her sleep, her hand lifting to clutch Carlisle’s wrist, and he turned his hand, letting her grip his fingers instead. “Someone’s here,” she cried her trembling increasing as her grip on his hand tightened. “Someone’s at the window.”

“Angela,” Edward called to her as he knelt beside the bed, reaching out to touch her cheek, and looked up at Carlisle. “She can hear me. I’ve become part of her dream. We both have,” he said, and turned his attention back to the girl between them. “Angela, tell me what you see,” he instructed her, keeping his voice soft, his tone lyrical as he coaxed her to respond.

“Someone’s at the window,” she whimpered.

“Who?” Carlisle asked her, his eyes narrowing as he tipped his head, mourning her fear. “Can you see who is at the window?”

“Shadows,” Angela whimpered, her eyes snapping open only to close once more as she began to calm, the power of her dream breaking. “The shadows move,” she whispered, her words slurring together as she fell asleep once more.

“She’s out,” Edward said as he stood from his crouch. “Both you and Emmett are concerned about her. Alice is watching all of us to watch her, and Rosalie . . . “

“Rosalie what?” Carlisle asked when Edward fell silent.

“I don’t know.” Edward shook his head. “Something is . . . different. Jasper’s noticed it, too, but neither of us are certain what it is.”

“You can’t read her?” Carlisle asked as he tucked the quilt back around Angela’s shoulders.

“She’s blocking me,” he replied with a sigh. “At first it was cars and engine rebuilds.” He rolled his eyes. “A few days ago, she switched it up. I’m actively _not_ reading her right now.”

Carlisle chuckled, lifting a loose fist to cover his mouth. The last time Edward had made that statement using that tone, Rosalie had used memories of sex with Emmett to block him.

“Yes,” Edward said uncomfortably. “I don’t find it nearly as amusing as you do.”

Carlisle’s lips twitched as he sobered, his humor falling away. He watched Edward frown as his son read his thoughts, knew how concerned he was. If he could-–if Angela was more familiar with their family-–he would send her home with Edward right now, but she wasn’t and he feared such an action would only serve to frighten and confuse her more.

“You need to talk with Esme,” Edward advised him. “The concern both you and Emmett have-–you both think she’s being harmed or abused in some manner.”

Carlisle nodded as he looked up to meet his son’s gaze. “Emmett’s spent the most time with her. See if you can get him to tell you anything,” he said.

“I have,” Edward said and released a heavy sigh. “He won’t talk with me about it and he’s blocking me, too. The only thing he’s said on the matter is that he doesn’t want to say anything if he’s wrong.”

_I have another four hours until my shift is over,_ Carlisle thought as he met Edward’s gaze. _Learn what you can. Alice may be more willing to talk than the others._

“Alice can’t see her directly,” Edward revealed. Carlisle frowned, his eyes widening. “She doesn’t know why, but she said it feels familiar.” He stepped closer to the bed, touching his hand to Angela’s shoulder as he looked down on the sleeping girl. “I’ll watch out for her, we all will.” He tipped his head up, his gaze unfocused. “Ben,” he said as he blinked, nodded to himself as he met Carlisle’s gaze. “He might know something, and it would be easy enough to get him to talk without him realizing it.”

“Ben?” Carlisle shook his head.

“Angela’s boyfriend,” he clarified. “Or he was. I haven’t seen them together very much since the prom, though Ben considers Angela to be his paramour, Emmett isn’t as certain.” He stepped away from the bed, stopping just inside the open doorway. “I’ll learn what I can,” he promised before leaving the room.

Carlisle stood from the bed, following Edward into the hall and watching as he turned down the corridor. Turning his attention back to Angela, he returned to her bedside, and sat down next to her as he withdrew a business card from within his wallet. Turning it over in his palm as he took a pen from the breast pocket of his white coat, he wrote on the back of it. _Call me anytime if you need me - C.C._ Tucking the card into her palm, he closed her fingers over it, and bent low to kiss her forehead. She looked so lost and alone beneath the heavy quilt, her brow still furrowed with the fear that wouldn’t leave her.

No child, teenager or otherwise, should ever have to feel the fear that she was experiencing. Her home should be a safe place, not some empty room inside the cold sterile walls of a hospital. Smoothing her hair back from her face, he promised her once more that she was safe, that no one could get to her here. Standing slowly, he walked to the door and turned back as he stood within the doorway, looking back at her once more before leaving her to sleep.

 

**~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~**

**  
**

Carlisle looked up at the sound of the soft knock on his office door, glancing at the clock on his desk before lifting his voice to invite Alice inside. He watched her enter, her usual effervescent demeanor subdued as she stepped inside and closed the door after. His eyes flicked down to the journal in her hands— _his_ journal—and he looked up to meet her gaze curiously.

“I was watching you,” she admitted quietly. “I could see you wanted this,” she told him, stepping closer to offer him his journal.

“Are you all right, Alice?” he asked as he accepted the leather-bound volume, and nodded to the visitor chairs in front of his desk.

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly as she sat down, her hands folded in her lap. “Something’s changing, I keep seeing . . . _wisps_ of something, but never a full vision, never enough to grab onto.”

“Does it feel dangerous?” he asked with a frown.

Alice shook her head, her brow furrowed in a pensive frown. “Not. . . dangerous,” she said slowly, rubbing her lips together as she looked up to meet his gaze. “Complete,” she said after a moment, pausing before speaking again. “Intense. But not dangerous.”

“Can you explain that?” he asked her as he opened his journal, lifting the silk ribbon to open it to a blank page before lifting his pen.

“No,” she told him with a shake of her head. “I can’t, but . . .” She nodded slowly as she offered him a gentle smile. “You should go check on Angela.”

Carlisle frowned curiously as he set his pen down in the trench between the pages of his journal and looked up, watching as Alice moved toward the door. “Alice?”

“As Emmett likes to say, no fun spoiling the surprise,” she told him with a grin before slipping into the hall and closing the door behind her.

“A surprise, is it?” he asked as he stood from his seat, a smile curling his lips as he moved out from behind his desk.

He stepped into the hall, nodding when Nurse Marks passed by him. The expression on her face had been a curious one, he thought as he turned down the corridor, making his way back toward the patient rooms. The upward tilt of her lips, the light in her dark green eyes, if he didn’t know better, he would describe her expression as one of affection and gratitude. But for what?

“Emmett was rather surprised to find this among your collection, but I wasn’t.” Carlisle stilled when he heard Rosalie’s soft voice, her tone gentle and soothing. “He doesn’t see what I do. You’re quite a bit more complicated than you let on, but don’t tell him I said that.”

Carlisle moved closer to the door, standing at just the right angle to peer inside the slightly open doorway, his brow furrowing in surprise to find Rosalie lying in bed next to Angela. The human girl was curled against his daughter’s side, her head pillowed on Rosalie’s shoulder, and one arm draped over his daughter’s stomach as though Angela meant to keep Rosalie with her. She was still asleep, the sound of her heartbeat and breathing deep and even. The fear that had colored her scent earlier was gone, a warmth infusing the small hospital room that he hadn’t felt before, and he smiled as he slipped his hands into his pants pockets.

_The Hound of Baskerville_ , he noted as he watched his daughter open the book, listening as she began to read to Angela. She kept her voice low and lyrical. His brows quirked as his lips parted, and he realized with a mix of amusement and curiosity that she was inflecting just enough of the vampire charm into her voice to keep Angela asleep.

Time and again, he had watched her keep her distance from Bella, the anger she projected toward Edward’s mate something he didn’t understand, but there she was holding Angela, reading to her and soothing her as she slept. What was the difference between the two, he wondered. Was it a latent jealousy toward Bella, or was there something else, something different about Angela that drew her in?

He may never have the answer, he realized, bowing his head as he nodded to himself and turned away from the door. Rosalie was always the very last person in their family to accept someone new—some _thing_ new, for that matter—but there she was, accepting Angela without question or compromise. He was as curious as he was confused, but he knew without doubt that if he asked Rosalie about it she would shut him out entirely. There were some things his temperamental daughter simply would not talk about with him, or anyone, save Emmett.

Then again, he mused silently as he stepped back into his office, closing the door as he returned to his desk, he had to wonder if she even talked with Emmett about those things she fought so hard to keep private. It made him wonder if Rosalie even understood it all herself. Perhaps, it was her own confusion over those things she didn’t understand that kept her so silent. Sitting down in the chair behind his desk, Carlisle lifted the fountain pen from the journal, uncapping it as he brought the tip to the empty page.

 

_February 20, 2009_

_It isn’t often that I bring my journal to work, or have it brought to me, but tonight I am unwilling to leave. My shift is due to end in thirty minutes, but I find myself reluctant to leave. There has always been a mystery to this hospital, in the form of room two-fourteen. That room has always been left open, the bed prepared but unused and though I’ve asked, none of the staff have been willing to tell me why it has always sat empty._

_Tonight, I found out firsthand exactly why it’s been kept prepared but empty by all the nursing staff. The room is reserved for Angela Weber. According to Camille—Nurse Marks—Angela has been coming here to sleep off and on since she was twelve. What twelve-year-old finds more safety and comfort in a cold hospital room than they do their own home, unless they’re being abused? The thought of it disturbs me greatly. Angela is such a quiet gentle girl, and Edward has told me on more than one occasion that when the thoughts of others becomes too much, he will step into her mind and it is there that he finds peace._

_How is it possible that a girl my own son describes as being selfless and kind to a fault, is being mistreated? Why would anyone do such a thing?_

_I was surprised yet again tonight. Alice told me that she cannot see Angela in her visions, that she has to watch those around her in order to see her, but that isn’t what has me so mesmerized now. Rosalie, my daughter, always angry at this life, distant and cold toward Bella, is lying in the same hospital bed that Angela is, holding her while she sleeps and reading to her. I don’t know what to make of it, other than to say the same thing Alice told me tonight._

_Something is changing._

 


	3. Chapter 2 "Evidence"

A.N.: The Twilight Saga, both the books and movies, and all recognizable characters are the sole property of Stephanie Meyer. While I am borrowing the characters for a little while, this story is my own. No copyright infringement is intended. This story is canon AU, the characters and, a few moments in the stories, are a blend between the books and movies. Angela Weber, for instance, is the movie version, and not the book’s original description. Though this story will, at times, show all the relationships both familial and romantic between the couples, the main focus is on Angela Weber and how she becomes a member of the Cullen family.

Summary: Emmett had never thought much of Angela Weber until he was paired with her for a history assignment in class. She had always been just another one of Bella’s friends, someone whom he looked out for because Bella did. But then one day he learned that the girl who always seemed so silent was the one person who was screaming the loudest, and what kind of protector would he be to ignore the cries of an innocent in pain?

 

 

Roses in Winter

By WhisperingWolf

**_Book One: Shattering Glass_ **

Chapter 2

_Evidence_

  

Angela narrowed her eyes as she looked up from the camera in her hands, turning her head at the sound of voices behind her. She thought for certain she had heard Emmett’s voice, but it seemed to be little more than wishful thinking. He wasn’t here today, it was bright and warm and—as always—Dr. and Mrs. Cullen had pulled him and his adopted siblings out of school to go hiking and camping. She blinked as she turned her attention back to the camera in her hands, her brow furrowing as she tried to push away the longing that appeared out of nowhere.

There was a part of her that had believed Emmett would return to the quiet classmate who barely paid her any mind once their project was over. Instead, he had remained her friend, talking with her, and coming by her house or staying with her at school to see her home on the nights she stayed late to work on the paper or a class assignment. He took away her loneliness, her fear, and as grateful as she was for his company and his friendship, she felt guilty for it as well.

He was her friend, someone she had come to think of as a big brother, but what about Rosalie? The last thing she wanted to do was get between them, or give anyone the wrong impression. Shaking her head to rid herself of the dark thoughts that lingered, she turned her attention back to the digital view finder of the camera. Frowning as she turned the device off and back on again, her frown deepened as she stared at the digital display.

All the pictures she had taken for the article were gone. Turning her camera to the side and opening the small rectangular door, she looked inside, the furrow between her brows growing deeper. The memory card was missing. She’d left the device to charge overnight in the school newspaper office. It was possible that Eric had removed the card this morning to put the images together for the paper, but he always told her before he messed with her camera.

_Maybe he forgot to tell you, or thought he already had_ , she told herself. It was just one more item in a long list of little things that were adding up to make her more paranoid than she already was. The newspaper office was locked after the last person left and only she, the teacher in charge, and Eric had keys as they were the editing staff and there earlier—and later—than everyone else. The janitors had a key as well, but there was no reason for any of them to mess with her camera. The school building itself was also locked after hours, and even when the janitors were there at night, the doors remained locked.

Besides that, she tried to rationalize, the pictures were of a house on the outskirts of Forks that was undergoing restoration. It was true that the pictures couldn’t be recreated, but neither were they valuable. They didn’t hold any sensitive details or important information. All the pictures she had taken had been approved of by the person in charge of the reconstruction and he’d even complimented her on the photos.

Biting her lip as she turned off the camera and stowed it back in her school bag, she looked to Eric, watching as he conversed animatedly with Mike Newton. She tried to get his attention, catching his gaze a few times, but frowned when he looked at her only to turn away. Ben had done that for the past few days, too—looked at her only to turn away without talking to her. What was going on? Why did it seem like those two were purposefully ignoring her?

_Stop it!_ She snapped at herself. She was seeing patterns were there weren’t any and imagining things that weren’t there. She just needed to stop. If she could pull back and look at everything from a different angle, it would all make sense. Maybe she had left the memory card in a computer in the office, or Eric had taken it to add the photos to the article she had written and simply forgotten to tell her.

And the strange looks? Mike Newton’s birthday was coming up and Spring Break wasn’t that far off, either. Maybe they were just distracted. She had already told them a few weeks ago that she wouldn’t be going with them on the trip they had planned, so maybe the things they were talking about didn’t include her. There was a rational explanation for it all. There had to be.

“Hey, you okay?”

Angela looked up at the sound of Bella’s voice and nodded, offering her friend a small grin. “Yeah, I just need to go look for the memory card before I forget about it. I used to always like the sunny days,” she thought out loud a moment later, her gaze turned toward the empty table behind her.

“I know what you mean,” Bella chuckled as she stood from the lunch table. “Come on, I’ll go with you,” she offered, hoisting her backpack onto her shoulder as Angela stood to follow her out of the cafeteria.

“Bella,” Angela called to her only to fall silent a moment later. “Never mind,” she said with a shake of her head.

She watched Bella turn her head to the table behind them, frowning as she stood with her hand on the lunchroom door, and nodded. “Newton and the others?” she asked as she turned back to face Angela, pushing the door open as they stepped into the hall.

Angela nodded. “It’s not my imagination?” she asked, wincing when Bella shook her head. “Why?”

“Why do you think?”

Angela froze at the sound of Lauren Mallory’s harsh voice, turning around to face the girl even as Bella tried to pull her away.

“Come on, Angela,” Bella said as she tried once more to lead Angela away. “Just ignore her.”

“Ignore me all you like,” Lauren said dismissively as she examined her manicure. “It doesn’t change the fact that everyone knows exactly what kind of person Weber is.” She flicked her eyes up to meet Angela’s gaze. “You even had _me_ fooled,” she said with a click of her tongue.

“What are you talking about?” Angela asked, glancing back at Bella when her friend tried to pull her away once more. “Do you know what she’s talking about?” she asked Bella.

“Let’s just go,” Bella replied, her attention focused on the girl in front of them as she tried to pull Angela away.

“Of course, Bella knows,” Lauren said triumphantly, staring at Angela as though she should know what she was talking about. “Rumor has it Rosalie has something special planned for you, Weber. After all, you have been spending so much time with Emmett, even after knowing quite well that those two are an item. Tell me, how was it that you convinced Emmett to be with you, hm?”

“What?” Angela shook her head, looking back to Bella before turning her wide eyes on Lauren. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s always the quiet ones, isn’t it?” Lauren continued. “At least Bella had the decency to go after Edward. She’s not nearly as much of a _slut_ as you are.”

Angela pulled back as though been slapped, opening and closing her mouth only to remain silent, her words caught in her throat. “I’m not—I d-didn’t—we’re _friends_!” she said, stumbling over the words as she shook her head. “There’s nothing like that going on. We’re friends,” she repeated.

Lauren scoffed as she rolled her eyes. “Ri-i-i-ight,” she drawled. “I’m sure Emmett gives all his friends little pet names.” She turned her arrogant glare on Bella. “And what does Emmett call you, Bella?” she asked, only to snap her fingers. “Oh, that’s right— _Bella_ ,” she tossed back as she returned her attention to Angela. “As if it wasn’t bad enough that you seduced him in _front_ of everyone, but to then act like everything is normal around Ben.” She rolled her eyes.

“Angela, let’s go,” Bella snapped as she tried to pull her away once more.

“You knew about this?” Angela asked, shaking her head as she met Bella’s gaze.

“Of course, she knew,” Lauren scoffed. “Who do you think told Edward, and then Edward told Rosalie. I can’t wait to see what she does to you,” she said with a slow malicious smile. “It’ll be . . . _delicious_ to watch Rosalie destroy you. I simply can’t wait,” she cheered, her smile wide as she turned away from them. “Ta ta, girls,” she tossed over her shoulder, disappearing back into the cafeteria.

Angela let Bella lead her away, too stunned to speak. She could feel bile burning in the back of her throat, the sting of tears behind her eyes. “What she said—”

“Don’t,” Bella told her, shaking her head as she walked with Angela into the newspaper office. “Lauren is just looking for someone to attack.”

“But what she said, Bella,” Angela maintained, staring at her friend with wide eyes. “Is what she said true? The whole school thinks that I’m--- _Rosalie_ thinks that I—”

“No.” Bella shook her head. “Rosalie knows the truth, so does Emmett, so does his family.”

“But everyone else?” Angela asked when Bella fell silent.

Bella sighed, nodded after a moment. “Yeah. I don’t know who started the rumor, but I wouldn’t put it past Lauren to be the source of it.”

“How long?” Angela asked, tears stinging behind her eyes as she shook her head.

Bella pressed her lips together as she sighed. “About a week ago,” she answered slowly. “Ever since Emmett drove you home.”

“I couldn’t get my car to start!” Angela argued, shaking her head as she blinked away her tears.

“Angela. . . “ Bella shook her head.

Angela stared at her with wide eyes. “So, Ben thinks . . . “ She shook her head as she fell silent, unable to breathe as she tried to speak. “He thinks. . .? I wouldn’t! I wouldn’t do that to him! I wouldn’t do that to Emmett! He’s a friend!”

The sound of Bella’s sigh drew Angela’s attention, and she looked up, meeting her friend’s dark gaze. Closing her mouth as she turned away with a nod, Angela rubbed her lips together, biting down on them as she closed her eyes. He had been polite to her, friendly. He had kept the loneliness away, and what had she done in return? She had ended up being the cause of a rumor that made the school believe him to be the kind of person to cheat on his girlfriend and that she—

Angela shook her head as she took in a deep breath and turned back toward the desktop computers set up on the table by the wall. She couldn’t be the cause of conflict between Rosalie and Emmett, certainly not after he’d been so kind to her. It didn’t matter what anyone thought of her, Angela thought. She’d never been the focus of anyone’s interest for very long and she really didn’t mind—but Emmett? She couldn’t bear the thought of him being painted in such a dishonorable way. He had been sweet to her when he had no reason to be, and the only thought in her mind was that she had hurt him in return.

“It’s why Jessica won’t talk to me, isn’t it?” she asked before she could stop herself. “Why even Mike acts like I’m some kind of pariah.”

She looked up from the computer she was sitting in front of to meet Bella’s gaze, watching as the girl nodded. “Lauren told Jessica and it all spun out from there,” Bella told her. “I swear, Jessica takes everything Lauren says as gospel. She doesn’t question it at all. You’d think she’d know better, I mean, you two are friends.”

Angela shook her head. “Not really,” she denied quietly. “Jessica only started talking to me and hanging around me because you did. She doesn’t like not being included in things.”

“You mean not being the center of attention,” Bella countered with a sigh. “Yeah, I know.” She shook her head as she moved to stand next to Angela. “I don’t get how Ben believed her so easily, or why he would.”

Angela looked down with a derisive laugh. “I’m five-eleven, Bella. Most people say I’m six foot, but I’m not. Ben? He’s five-five. Whatever growth spurt he’s been waiting on hasn’t happened yet. He never seemed to mind my height before, but lately it seems to bother him.”

“Has he said anything?” Bella asked her with a frown.

Angela shook her head. “It’s more the things he doesn’t say,” she returned. “His shoes have been taller, almost platforms. He just says that it’s the new style, but . . .” She bowed her head as she released a heavy exhalation. “Sometimes, he just stares at me like . . . “ She shook her head, leaving her thought unfinished. “He’s trying to see past it. He leaves me little notes and flowers, and he’s trying, he just . . . I imagine it’s hard for him, having a girlfriend who’s taller than he is.” She bit her lip as she looked back down at the computer in front of her, checking the memory card reader before reaching for her backpack to take out her laptop. “It’s probably why he believed her so easily about Emmett. I feel short next to Emmett. It’s kind of nice, actually. I—"

“Angela?” Bella called to her.

“Oh God.” Angela gasped, turning to meet Bella’s gaze with wide eyes, the blood draining from her face. “I said that to Ben, I didn’t even think about it at the time I . . . He must hate me,” she said miserably.

“He might be a little insecure, but I doubt he hates you,” Bella countered. “Any luck?” she asked as Angela closed her laptop and put it back in her bag.

“No, the memory card’s gone,” she replied with a heavy sigh. “I can’t get those pictures back. There’s no way to recreate them.”

Rubbing her fingertips against her brow as she stood from her seat in front of the lab computer, Angela lifted her backpack to her shoulder, catching the strap in her hand as she looked up at the analog clock on the wall. It was only a half day today, teacher in-service meetings taking up the remainder of the school hours, and as much as she wanted to, she wouldn’t be able to work at the newspaper tonight. The lab was closed down for the in-service meetings, since there wouldn’t be a teacher there to oversee the students. Not that supervision was really needed, Angela thought, but it was school policy.

“I’m going to see if I can talk with Ben,” she told Bella as they stepped out of the office, the shrill sound of the school bell making her wince.

“Angela, can I ask you something?” Bella asked as they walked toward their lockers. Angela nodded as she glanced at Bella before opening her locker. “Ben—you two seemed like a good fit at prom, but he doesn’t really seem to be your type.”

“What do you mean?” Angela asked, a soft smile twisting her lips when she found a white notecard in her locker.

She still didn’t know how he was able to get the notes inside her locker without her seeing, but guessed that he must be slipping them in through the vent at the top. Angela frowned as she turned the notecard over only to find it blank on both sides. Had he forgotten to write on it? He’d never left her a blank one before. Setting the notecard on the shelf at the top of her locker, she took out her history book before closing the door and spinning the nob to lock it.

“You two don’t really talk that much,” Bella commented as she followed Angela out of the school.

“I try to talk with him, he just tends to drift off after a while,” Angela said with a shrug. “He doesn’t really seem interested in anything outside of comic books or video games and action movies. He talks more with Tyler and Mike than he does with me.”

“Not a gamer?” Bella teased.

Angela laughed as she shook her head. “Not really, no. I like history and science,” she replied. “There was a collection on loan from the British Museum at the Burke Museum in Seattle that I wanted to see a few months ago. I asked Ben to go with me, even bought tickets for both of us. He said he’d meet me there, but he never showed. When I talked to him about it later, he just said that he, Tyler, and Mike were playing Call of Duty and he couldn’t leave the campaign.” She shook her head and shrugged when Bella frowned. “It’s what he likes to do. We just like different things and after that, we agreed to do what we liked separately. I still try to include him, but . . . It just made things easier, I guess.”

Bella shook her head as they stopped next to her truck. “That’s not how it’s supposed to be,” she said. “What about dates and stuff?”

Angela shrugged. “We go down to La Push, or to the movies. I just let him pick what to watch and take my phone so I can read a book during the movie.”

“Seriously?” Bella asked.

“He tends to favor the kind of stupid comedies. The ones where if there is a plot, you can just barely follow it. Or the really bad action flicks—again, no real plots just explosions and gun fire,” she said with a shrug.

“Eww,” Bella commented as she opened her truck door and tossed her backpack inside. “You mean like the Transporter movies?”

Angela laughed. “No, I like those. They actually have a plot you can follow. More like Austin Powers and . . . what’s that new movie coming next winter that they keep advertising?” she asked. “Face Punch! That’s what it’s called. Like that, but worse.

Bella stared at her with wide eyes, her brows high on her forehead. “Yeah, that’d be a no from me, too,” she agreed with a laugh. “Hey, where’s your car?”

“I still can’t get it started,” Angela said. “Forks is a small town and it’s not too far to walk home from here.” She bit the edge of her lip as she smiled. “Emmett found out I walked to school a couple days ago and walked home with me. I didn’t even ask him to, he just did it. We talked the whole way—about everything. Ben doesn’t even do that.”

Bella laughed as she nodded. “Emmett’s pretty great. You want a ride home?” she asked.

Angela shook her head. “Walking is good for me,” she said with a smile. “I’m okay, but thanks!”

 

**~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~**

**  
**

_My parents are home?_ Angela stared up at the house from the edge of the drive, a deep frown marring her brow as she stayed where she was. She didn’t want to go inside, didn’t want to see them. Squeezing her eyes closed, she shook her head. How selfish could she be? They had been gone for six months, and whether they showed it or not, there had to be some part of them that missed her. They loved her—didn’t they?

Taking in a calming breath, she gripped her backpack tighter, pulled it closer, as she walked up to the door and stepped inside. The house felt different with them in it, colder and emptier somehow, Angela thought. She’d done better this last term, her grades well above average. Maybe this time, they’d be proud of her.

“You’ve gained weight,” her mother said with a disapproving tone. Angela gasped silently as she stared at her. “You know it’s not healthy. Your body doesn’t respond well to the added weight. We leave you alone for a few weeks and this is what happens,” she continued, her tone clipped. “It’s like you’re actively trying to make yourself sick.”

A few weeks? Angela thought as she turned toward the door, shutting it slowly in order to keep her face hidden, unwilling to let her mother see her tears. _Six_ months. They had been gone six _months_. There was never a hello from her parents, no happy greeting or warm embraces, no matter how long they’d been away. Closing her eyes as she took in a deep breath, she wiped away her tears with the edge of her sleeve before she turned around to face her mother.

The only thing she ever wanted was their approval, their love, but all she ever received were their judgements and disdain. The unhidden tone that both her parents used with her in the privacy of their own home, or on the phone when they called her from overseas. They didn’t want her—never had—that much was all too clear, but for a reason she would never understand, all she wanted was for them to approve of her, to love her, to be proud of her.

Why did she long for that? Why did she struggle so hard just to try to earn the smallest semblance of support from them? They hadn’t wanted her, and were never shy about telling her that her conception and birth were unplanned. How many times had her mother told her that same story as a child until she’d been old enough to understand that it wasn’t just a story, that it was actually about her? The arrival of the unwanted seed that grew into a dark sickly flower that no one wanted, that no one could stand to look at, but that no one could remove, either.

Her mother hadn’t been shy about telling her that—if she hadn’t been on a missionary trip in an area of the world where modern medicine and the concept of abortion _didn’t_ exist—she would have gladly rid herself of Angela long before she’d had the chance to be born. The only reason her parents hadn’t left her in that native village halfway around the world where she’d been born was simple—word had spread to the church back home that they were expecting a child. And when she’d been born, one of the other missionaries traveling with them had sent off news of Angela’s birth to the rest of the congregations. If they had returned without her, her parents would have been shamed.

_I’ll never be enough for them,_ she thought as she walked past her mother into the kitchen, needing to put just a small bit of distance between them. The electric kettle she’d purchased was gone. She didn’t know if it had been hidden away in a cupboard or thrown in the trash, but it was gone all the same. Angela turned around, stared at her mother silently, only to realize that the woman was waiting for an answer. What had she asked? Angela closed her eyes as she shook her head.

“No, Mom, I don’t think I’ve gained any weight,” she replied softly, wishing fervently that she could push her emotions away, that she could care as little about her parents as they did about her.

“Angela!” her father barked her name as he stormed past her mother and into the kitchen behind her. “Have you forgotten your manners, girl?”

Flinching and taking a half step back when he looked to be raising his arm, Angela shook her head and looked at the floor as she quickly apologized before restating her answer and rephrasing the words.

“No, Mrs. Weber, I don’t believe I have gained any weight,” Angela said, unable to help the racing of her heart. “I apologize for my show of disrespect.”

“Better,” her father said before disappearing out of the kitchen.

She could hear his heavy steps walking through the house as he carried the suitcases inside the house and dropped them by the front door. Clenching her jaw against the desire to leave the house, she hated the way that her parents’ visits made her feel unworthy, undesirable, and out of place; and even with their treatment; she still wanted their approval, their love so badly that she was willing to do almost anything. Turning around when she heard her mother berating the contents of the fridge, Angela’s eyes grew wide when the older woman systematically opened and dumped every can of Dr. Pepper into the sink and threw out the new block of cheese, the containers of yoghurt, the loaf of bread and numerous other things until the only thing left was a single bottle of water and a bag of salad greens.

Angela was rooted to her spot on the floor, unable to move as she watched her mother go through the freezer and remove every package and container, until only the ice cube trays remained. The only thing her mother hadn’t thrown away was the bag of granola on the counter.  She had just bought all of that food not three days ago; she wouldn’t receive another paycheck from her job for at least ten days. Her mind was screaming at her to say something, _do_ something, but she was frozen in place. Emmett was coming over in four days to help her study for the history exam they had coming up in two weeks. What was she going to offer him then? He had always been satisfied with a bottle of water and she would put a plate of cookies out on the table between them, but what was she going to offer him now that she didn’t even have that?

“I can’t believe you were eating and drinking all that crap. It’s no wonder you’re gaining weight. I see at least ten extra pounds on you and that is absolutely unacceptable. You know what happens when you put on extra weight and how your body reacts to it. I won’t have you missing school because you made yourself sick. Drink this,” her mother commanded handing her the bottle of water from the fridge, the cap already removed. “Now, Angela,” her mother commanded harshly when she failed to take the bottle.

Angela moved slowly, still unable to speak as she took the bottle from her mother’s outstretched hand. She took a swallow at her mother’s insistence, noting the odd flavor that was always in the water her mother gave her, but staying silent. She had learned long ago that any outward show of disobedience or questioning of her parents’ intentions was met with the cruelty of their words or, on a few occasions, her father’s hand. Her father stepped into the kitchen again and informed her mother that their suitcases were upstairs and that he was taking the religious artifacts to their church before it got too late. At her mother’s request, he took the tied bag of garbage that contained nothing aside from the perfectly good food her mother had thrown out and left the house.

“Don’t dawdle, Angela,” her mother criticized. “Drink the whole bottle and do it now. I won’t have you pouring it out while I’m not looking.”

“My tea . . . “ Angela said weakly, her voice trailing off as she looked at the counter where the container holding her loose leaf jasmine oolong once sat.

“I won’t have you drinking that crap. All their false medicines and false gods,” her mother snapped.

Angela pulled back as she shook her head. “It’s just tea,” she returned with confusion.

Her head snapped to the side, her cheek stinging as she winced and raised her hand to touch her face. She hadn’t even seen her mother raise her hand. “Don’t talk back to me,” her mother snapped. “Drink what I gave you. Do it now.”

She could only nod as she forced herself to down the rest of the liquid and grimaced at the feeling of nausea twisting her stomach. Why was she always left sick after her mother declared that she had gained weight? She would be ill for days, unable to keep food down, unable to keep her emotions in check, and no matter what comforts she tried to tell herself, she always cried herself to sleep after they visited. Her mother held her hand out for the plastic bottle once Angela had emptied it and refilled it with water from the tap before replacing the lid and putting it in the fridge.

“I’ll have your father buy a case of water on his way home and that is what you will drink, do you hear me? I won’t have you making yourself sick to get attention because you like soda and fatty foods. Tell me: have you at least kept your grades up?”

Angela’s teeth chattered as she drew in a deep trembling breath. Opening her mouth to answer her mother, to tell her that she had maintained a four-point-oh grade point average, she was robbed of her voice instead when she felt her insides twist viciously, and ran for the stairs. She barely made it into the bathroom at the top landing, falling to her knees in front of the open toilet, before she began retching violently. Tears fell from her eyes as she vomited into the toilet and she groaned as her stomach refused to stop spasming.

It was barely twenty minutes later when her stomach had finally calmed down enough that she was able to sit back, resting her head weakly against the side of the cabinet. She closed her eyes when she heard her mother criticizing the cleanliness of the house, demanding that she return downstairs to begin cleaning immediately. There was a part of her that wanted to yell back, to fight back, but she pushed it down, knowing that nothing good would come of it. It wouldn’t matter to them that she had just cleaned four days ago, or that she vacuumed every day, even though the carpeting was barely stepped on. It was primarily just her living in the house and she always made certain to keep the house neat and tidy.

She closed her eyes as she pulled herself to her feet, the world spinning around her as she stumbled and opened her eyes slowly to stare at the mirror. Her reflection stared back at her, almost daring her to defy them, but still brushed her teeth and used mouthwash before walking slowly down the stairs. Wincing at her mother’s demand that she perform a thorough cleaning, including sanitizing the entire house since she had made herself sick, Angela nodded, her jaw clenched against her rising nausea and took a rag from the closet under the stairs where the cleaning supplies were stored. She sprayed it heavily with anti-bacterial bleach cleaner before making her way around the house to dust furniture and clean the shelves.

 

**~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~**

**  
**

Two hours later, Angela was still cleaning while being interrupted periodically when her stomach demanded to be emptied. By the time it was dark outside she had scrubbed down the kitchen, removing and washing all the dishes in the cupboards at her mother’s insistence, rinsing each and every piece in bleach water before drying them all by hand. Each shelf, every countertop and surface had all been cleaned with bleach, the surfaces wiped down and left to air dry.

The floors had been swept and mopped with bleach water, the windows cleaned until the glass sparkled and the living room had been turned upside down. Her mother had stood by the bottom of the stairs watching Angela as she cleaned, demanding that all of the furniture be moved to clean every bit of floor possible. The couch didn’t have casters or sliders on the bottom, which made moving it across the carpet difficult. Just as she was beginning to think she was done with the living room, her father had walked back into the house carrying the small case of twelve eight-ounce bottles of water through the living room into the kitchen and, although his shoes were clean and no dirt was left behind, her mother demanded that she repeat the rigorous detailed cleaning of the room.

By the time nine o’clock had rolled around, Angela was fighting not to cry. She was physically and emotionally exhausted, torn down by her parents’ harsh demands and unachievable expectations. She had been sick again ten more times in the five hours that her parents had been home, the unexpected illness bringing with it the pain of a migraine screaming through her brain like fire, making it more difficult for her to see by the moment and nearly impossible to concentrate on anything. Her inability to even keep water down made the idea of taking her migraine prescription inadvisable, as she knew that whatever she took would just come right back up, effectively rendering any medication useless. But the worst part of it all? Her parents had acted as though she were forcing herself to be sick, as though she was just playing some kind of game.  

Her parents went to bed almost an hour ago, telling her that they were exhausted. Before retreating upstairs to their room, her mother had insisted Angela redo the paper she had spent three days writing for history class. She hadn’t even read half of it, but even still, her mother declared the quality subpar. She knew better than to argue, better than to try to skip writing a new paper, or only correct selected passages, as her mother would demand to read the rewritten assignment in the morning.

Illness of any kind—a cold or flu, the illness she was suffering now, or her migraines—had never been deemed as a worthy excuse for putting off her homework or cleaning. The relentless nausea and vertigo left her muscles weak, her energy fading more with each second that passed, but the inability to keep anything down was worse. No matter how slowly she drank the water, or how small the sips that she took were, she couldn’t keep any of it down. The bottle her mother had given her was empty, and as much as she knew she was expected to only drink the bottled water, she wanted something warmer instead.

Hoping for a reprieve from the painful stomach cramping, Angela made her way down stairs to get a glass of warm water from the tap, but when she turned the faucet on nothing happened. She tried again, even jostled the handles, but there was no change. Her father had turned off the water for the kitchen—it was the only explanation that made any sense—but what made it worse was that she didn’t know where that valve was to turn it back on. She didn’t have a choice, she realized, and opened the fridge to get a drink.

The orange juice she had purchased was gone, the only thing left to drink was the water. All the bottles had been removed from the package and were lined carefully along the top shelf, giving her the smallest concession of not having to wrestle with the plastic pack that had surrounded it. Clenching her jaw and squeezing her eyes shut against the exhaustion she felt, she took a bottle from the fridge and shut the door.

She would never be enough, would she? Her eyes watered as she took in a trembling breath, and in that moment all she wanted was for Emmett to be there, to hear him laugh, or tease her about something—anything—to take here away from the dark thoughts ensnaring her mind. Or maybe. . . She shook her head as she closed her eyes. When she was as tired as she was now, she swore she could almost hear Rosalie’s voice in the back of her mind, lyrical and soft as she read to her. How fanciful was that? It wasn’t fair of her to put that on them, even just wishing for them to be here when she knew they couldn’t or wouldn’t be wasn’t fair to them.

It wasn’t their responsibility to make her feel better or take care of her. They were her friends, and only barely that. After what Lauren Mallory had said at school earlier that day, after what Bella had told her, how much longer would that friendship last? She’d done enough damage to them both already, hadn’t she?

Angela was halfway up the stairs when she was stopped by an impossibly strong wave of vertigo and had to grab onto the railing just to keep from falling down. Making it back into her room slowly, she sat down in front of her computer and looked over the ten-page history paper. Rewriting it would be at least another three hours of work and all she could think about was climbing into bed and sleeping. Shaking her head against the idea and opening a blank Word document, she took a drink of the bottled water and almost instantly regretted it. She was up and out of her seat in seconds, stumbling to the bathroom down the hall as the round of vicious stomach cramps followed by painful vomiting started up all over again.

She shuffled back to her room with her eyes closed, her fingers trailing along the wall for balance, and blinked slowly to clear her vision as she sat down in front of her computer. Her brows furrowed when she noticed that the app for her instant messenger was blinking down at the bottom where she’d left it minimized, and glanced at the clock in the corner of her screen. It was nearing two in the morning, she noted as she clicked on the icon to bring up the messenger screen, her eyes opening wide as she covered her mouth with her hand, tears stinging her eyes at the welcome sight of Emmett Cullen’s screen name.

_EmC: Half pint, what are you still doing up? It’s past midnight._

Angela sniffled as she dashed the back of her hand over her eyes. The comfort and relief she felt at seeing him there, knowing he was still looking out for her, made what little control she had over her emotions fall to pieces. Her eyes stung as her tears fell faster, the screen blurring in front of her as she typed in her reply. She had worked so hard on her paper already, but errors were found and she had to fix them before turning it in tomorrow.

_EmC: What are you talking about? What errors? I read over that paper myself, half pint, that was damn good work. College level. Why are you rewriting it?_

Angela lifted a trembling hand to cover her mouth as she stared at the screen. What could she say? How could she possibly make it make sense to someone else that her mother deemed her work subpar when it didn’t even make sense to her? She gasped at the sound of her phone ringing and answered it quickly in an effort to keep her ringtone from waking her parents. She thought it was Emmett, but hadn’t checked the caller ID to be certain, and frowned at the silence that greeted her. The phone beeped a short moment later, signaling that the call had dropped and she turned her attention back to the computer, asking Emmett if he had just tried to call her.

_EmC: No, but I can, if you like._

She stared at the blinking cursor, the message window waiting for her to respond. She wanted to hear his voice, the sound of it had always been a balm on her nerves, calming her when nothing else could, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to hide her tears from him. How would she explain her upset? How could she explain any of it?

Closing her eyes as she released a slow breath, she folded her lips in over her teeth, biting down on them as she sniffled and returned her attention to the computer. She told him that she was almost done, that she’d be going to bed soon, and even though she knew it was a lie, the last thing she wanted to do was worry him. Closing her eyes as she choked on a sob, she recalled Lauren’s words from the day before, the girl’s assertion that everyone believed she had broken up Emmett and Rosalie. Slapping a hand over her mouth as she ran from her room, she barely made it to the bathroom in time, as her stomach rebelled once more.

She couldn’t do this, Angela thought as she stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She was exhausted, the pain from her migraine denying her even a moment’s peace, not to mention the nausea. If she were stronger, if she had better control over her emotions, maybe she wouldn’t be so sick every time her parents returned home. They were right, weren’t they? She really was weak, pathetic even.

Closing her eyes as she turned away from the mirror, she stumbled toward the bath, turning on the faucet and adjusting the temperature of the water before pulling on the stick over the faucet to turn on the shower. She didn’t have the strength to stay standing under the warmth of the spray. Folding herself down until she was sitting in the bottom of the tub, she hugged her knees to her chest, burying her face in the hollow between her chest and knees as she cried.

Almost a month before Bella had arrived at Forks High, Angela had considered leaving the town, driving away and leaving everything behind. There wasn’t anywhere else she wanted to go, no goal in mind aside from disappearing. She hadn’t thought about that in a long time, but the idea was returning to her now. The only thing that stayed her hand was Emmett.

In the past few months, every time she’d felt at her lowest, he had somehow known and reached out to her through a phone call or a text, or instant message. The times he’d sat with her in the library at school, or here in her home, the minutes he’d spent with her walking her home, or talking with her on the phone—he’d let her borrow his strength. It didn’t seem possible that he could know she needed him so easily, but somehow, he did.

She could hold on for just a little longer—for him—couldn’t she? It wouldn’t be too much longer before spring break. She could take the time she needed then and just sleep. Closing her eyes against the vertigo that nearly unbalanced her as she stood, Angela took in a deep breath, finishing her shower before stepping carefully from the bath only to close her eyes as she sighed and wrapped herself in a thick towel. She hadn’t brought any clothes in with her, she hadn’t even really planned to shower when she did, she was just searching for something that would wake her up.

She would have to come back and clean up the water on the floor, she thought as she opened the bathroom door, and looked back at the damp footprints she’d left behind. The cool air of the hall chilled her, raising goosebumps on her skin as she shivered and moved toward her room.

_It’s not safe!_ Her mind screamed at her, and Angela stopped, her hand on the closed door of her bedroom.

“Stop it!” she whispered fiercely as she twisted the door knob and stepped inside her room. “Just stop it. What is wrong with me?”

It didn’t take her long to dry and dress, the vertigo she had felt earlier returning viciously as her borrowed energy vanished, leaving her exhausted once more. Scrubbing her hands over her face, she sat down in front of her computer, blinking heavily as she opened a new document and began to reconstruct her paper.

By the time she had the new paper completed and proofread by the computer program, the sun had already risen and her alarm clock was thirty minutes shy of sounding. A breathy, exhausted sob broke from her as she printed her paper and gathered the document together, never noticing that she had stapled the new paper to the back of the original. It took effort to stand, her eyes closing of their own accord as the room spun around her. Leaning heavily against her desk as she fought for some semblance of control, she gathered her school bag together and put her shoes on before leaving her room.

She stopped, blinking before turning and walking up to her parents’ bedroom, only to stare in disbelief. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting to find—but this? Shaking her head as she closed her eyes, tears seeped from between her lashes as she choked on a sob. They’d left sometime last night or this morning, never bothering to say goodbye or even check on her before abandoning her once more. Blinking as new tears slipped down her cheeks, she reached out for the piece of folded paper with her name scrawled on it that was taped to the door.

She looked away after reading the note a second time, wishing that she could turn her emotions off as easily as they could. She hated that she cared so much, hated that she still wanted their approval, still longed for them to just say the three words she’d never once heard from them—I love you. They were headed to South America this time, the note telling her that they’d left to catch a four AM flight, and she had been so focused on staying awake to write her paper that she hadn’t even noticed. The note declared that their trip would last roughly ten months this time, and while they were gone they expected that she would scrub their bedroom and place protective sheets over their bed and dressers to keep away the dust.

“All of that work and not even a thank you or a good job?” Angela asked aloud. “When will I be someone you’re proud of?” she asked, her chin trembling as tears rolled down her cheeks. “Why am I not good enough?”

 

**~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~**

Esme moved from her place just outside the open door of Carlisle’s home office, her dark honey eyes focused on the man seated behind the desk. Her steps were slow, her expression loving and concerned as she stepped inside the room and closed the door. She had been watching him closely these past two weeks. Something in his demeanor had been off, his mind preoccupied—held captive by thoughts she couldn’t see, things he was even hiding from Edward.

He sat at his desk, his journal open in front of him, with his pen in his hand even as the pages in front of him remained blank. The sun rising through the window behind him cast a halo of red around his golden hair, the sight of it drawing her lips up in a gentle smile. Walking around the polished oak wood furniture she wasn’t surprised that he seemed oblivious to her presence. His senses had always been sharp, but when his mind was engaged by thoughts or worries that wouldn’t be silenced, he could sit in silent meditation for hours, days even, without moving or taking notice of anything around him.

Threading her fingers through the thick silk hair at the back of his head, she turned his face toward her, rubbing her thumb over the patch of short hair behind his ear. Looking into his eyes when he met her gaze, she saw the concern held deep within his amber depths and traced the fingers of her other hand over the worried frown lines spanning his forehead. Leaning down, she pressed her lips against his, taking pleasure and offering comfort in the intimate embrace. She smiled into the kiss when he wrapped his arms around her slender waist and pulled her into his lap. Beyond doubt, beyond reason, beyond the measurement of time, she loved this man and always would.

Pulling back, she framed his face with her soft hands and kissed his forehead as she stroked his cheeks. He tilted his head forward to catch her lips, kissing her chastely as he tightened his arms around her, holding her close against his chest as he growled his need of her. She smiled against his lips when his hands moved slowly, his touch enticing as he combed his fingers into the length of her hair and deepened their kiss. Sweeping his tongue through the welcoming cavern of her mouth, he traced the razor-sharp edges of her teeth with his tongue before pulling back to plant two soft butterfly kisses against her lips.

“You’ve been distracted,” Esme told her husband, her hands resting against his chest as she looked at him.

“Yes,” he admitted softly, tucking her caramel locks behind her ear.

“Tell me,” she urged gently as she studied him.

Carlisle remained silent as he looked down at the blank pages of his journal. Esme studied him silently from her seat on his lap as she recalled the conversation she’d had with Alice before her visionary daughter had left to hunt. She agreed with Alice’s assessment—something was changing. She’d seen it in the way Carlisle looked to Emmett and Rosalie, the way the three of them had seemed to form a tighter bond. Neither Emmett or Rosalie were willing to speak with her yet about what concerned them, but there had been a change in Rosalie that she had seen, a change that both surprised and confused her.

Her anger was gone. There was no doubt in Esme’s mind that Rosalie’s temper was still as volcanic as ever, but the anger that used to surround her daughter like a shroud was all but gone, and in its place was something she almost recognized but couldn’t quite understand. She’d even asked Jasper about it, but he hadn’t been able to make sense of it either, telling her that the only description he had for Rosalie’s emotions of late was maternal.  Just that single word and nothing else—maternal.

“I need to talk with you about Angela Weber,” Carlisle began after several moments of quiet meditation, falling silent once more with a heavy sigh.

“Bella’s friend, the tall quiet girl?” she asked as she studied the worried frown on his face.

Carlisle nodded sagely. “Yes,” he replied quietly. “I know what I _want_ to do,” he told her, his brow furrowing as he looked away before meeting her gaze once more. “But I don’t know what I _should_ do.”

Esme nodded silently, tipping her chin up to press a kiss against his brow. “Tell me.”

She rested her hands on his shoulders, listening to Carlisle as he spoke to her of his concerns, his worry. Her lips fell open as she blinked in wonder, almost unable to believe what he had told her of finding Rosalie lying with Angela, holding the girl as she slept and reading to her. And yet, Esme thought as she frowned, she could understand it. Everything Carlisle told her, everything he’d learned from Emmett, from Jasper and Edward, the few things Rosalie had revealed through her actions, all of it was making Esme as suspicious as her family was.

“Rosalie,” Esme called out as she turned her attention toward the door as it opened, watching as her blonde daughter appeared. “If the choice were up to you,” she asked, and watched as Rosalie crossed her arms over her chest, her head bowing as she appeared to be guarding herself.

The minutes passed, Rosalie’s silence weighing heavily in the air, and just as Esme was beginning to believe that she wouldn’t answer the question at all, she spoke.

“I want her here,” Rosalie said quietly. “So, does Emmett.”

Esme nodded before turning her attention behind Rosalie, looking past her daughter to the man standing behind her. “Jasper?”

“I haven’t spent much time with her directly,” he replied, his brow furrowing as he looked down before meeting her gaze. “Emmett and Rosalie feel very protective of her. They have for more than a month now—ever since that project.”

“And Edward?” Esme asked, knowing that he wouldn’t be there to answer himself, her son having taken to staying with Bella at night.

Jasper frowned. “Edward is . . . conflicted. He and Alice have been keeping each other’s council as of late. I know it upsets Alice that she can’t see Angela directly, but whatever answers she is searching for, leave her just as conflicted as Edward.”

“She’s in pain,” Rosalie said, looking up at Esme, the set of her lips and the furrow of her brow speaking to her concern. “All the time,” she added, blinking repeatedly as she turned to look at Emmett when he appeared beside her.

“She is?” Emmett asked as he appeared and wrapped his arm around Rosalie’s shoulders, tucking her against his side.

Rosalie nodded silently. “The day I took her home, the night I stayed with her, she . . . “ Her voice trailed off as she shook her head, remaining silent as she turned her attention back to Esme.

“Did you find out what may have been causing her pain?” Carlisle asked her.

“No,” Rosalie denied as she crossed her arms over her chest, guarding herself as she shook her head. “Whatever injury or ailment she may have had was well hidden, but she did say that nothing made it stop.”

“Spring Break is in less than three weeks,” Emmett said, the muscle in his jaw twitching as he ground his teeth together. “She’ll be alone then. I can’t really use history tests as an excuse to go over there.”

“From what I’ve heard, Mike, Jessica, Tyler and Ben are all planning to go to Mexico for those two weeks,” Rosalie said. “She could be going with them.”

“Half pint let loose and go wild in Mexico?” Emmett said as he arched his brow. “I doubt it.”

“Half pint?” Esme repeated with a soft laugh, knowing exactly what it meant for Emmett to give someone a nickname. She turned back to Carlisle with a smile.

“Half pint,” Carlisle agreed with a chuckle. “I guess it’s better than ‘danger magnet’,” he said as he turned his attention to Emmett.

“Hey, Bella earned that one,” Emmett defended as Jasper chuckled.

“Yeah, she did,” Jasper agreed.

“Go to school,” Carlisle told his children with a laugh. “Edward will be arriving with Bella, and Alice. . . “ He turned his eyes on Jasper.

“She called a few hours ago,” Jasper said. “She won’t be making it back before first bell, but she did say that one of her visions is becoming clearer. She just didn’t say which one.”

“There’s something else,” Rosalie said after Emmett and Jasper stepped away. “A few days ago, Emmett said Angela told him she was having trouble with her car. I went to look at it the night before last—I fixed it, but someone had gone through and removed all her spark plugs. Someone purposefully disabled her car, all while leaving it looking like there was nothing wrong.”

“The night she came into the hospital,” Carlisle said with a frown. “Edward said that even in her sleep, she seemed afraid, that she believed someone to be at the window.”

“I want her here,” Rosalie said, repeating her own words from earlier.

Esme narrowed her eyes as she studied her daughter, her eyes widening with understanding a moment later. “You don’t know why you want her here, do you?” she asked Rosalie slowly, watching as her daughter shook her head. “Look after her today,” she requested, meeting Rosalie’s gaze when she nodded.

“Esme?” Carlisle called to her a moment later, the doorway empty, the sound of engines rumbling outside. “What is it?”

“I don’t know yet,” she denied with a shake of her head. “But I think I’m beginning to understand.” She stood from Carlisle’s lap, stepped toward the door. Stopping in the open doorway, she turned back to her husband with a smile. “As Alice keeps saying—things are changing.”

 

**~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~**

Carlisle shook his head as he set the file down on his desk and moved to sit behind it. He couldn't help the amusement he felt at the logic of the child he had just treated. Only a four-year-old would believe that sticking a fireman toy up their nose would get out the cat shaped toy they had lodged inside earlier. He reached for his journal, opening it as he reached for his pen.

_February 24, 2009_

_I brought my journal to work with me again. I find myself doing that more often of late as my thoughts seem to be focused on Angela, and Emmett’s suspicions that have become mine as well. I spoke with Esme this morning, brought to her my concerns, Emmett’s concerns, and the observations we have both made. She agreed that something is indeed wrong and has supported Emmett’s decision and mine to look after her._

_What surprised me the most during our discussion was Rosalie.  My daughter who has always been reluctant to accept anything or anyone new, told us that she wants Angela here with us, and for her, that is enormous. Esme not only understood the significance of it, as I knew she would, but she also saw something in Rosalie this morning—something she understands that I do not. Whatever it was, Esme is keeping her own council on it._

_I’m not certain what more we can do for Angela, other than watch over her, but in her own way, my beautiful wife assured me that things would work themselves out. I find myself concerned now more than ever. My shift barely started over an hour ago, but I feel that something has changed. Something doesn’t feel right. I have felt more aggravated with each moment that passes, and I do not understand it._

Carlisle paused in his writing, the tip of his pen held just above the paper as his name was called over the PA system. His brows rose and fell in a shrug as he turned down to the journal in front of him.

_I will have to pause for now as I have been called down to the emergency room for a consult._

He capped the pen, setting it aside as he tucked the ribbon between the pages and closed the journal, winding the long leather cord around it to tie it closed before tucking it and the pen into the side drawer of his desk.

 

**~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~**

Rosalie looked up at the overcast sky as she stepped out of the jeep. It was going to rain, she noted. Not that rain was an unusual condition for Forks, but for a reason she couldn’t explain, she didn’t like it. Not today. She watched as Emmett stepped out of the car, moving to stand behind it as he leaned against the tailgate with his arms crossed, his gaze focused across the lot. He was watching Angela, just as she was, just as they all were, she noted as she looked to the side.

Alice and Jasper were standing together, his arm around her, as Alice held an umbrella over them both. She watched her sister turn her gaze toward her, her lips moving as she spoke softly, keeping her voice under the range of human hearing.

“Be nice to Angela today,” Alice said, meeting Rosalie’s gaze. “Bella told Edward about their encounter with Lauren Mallory yesterday. Lauren was cruel.”

Rosalie stood taller, her eyes hardening as her expression darkened. “How cruel?” she asked in return, keeping her voice low.

“Lauren told Angela that the school believes she broke you and Emmett up,” Alice said, and Emmett scoffed as he turned his attention on Alice.

“Half pint didn’t do any such thing,” he replied, and looked to Rosalie.

“Maybe not,” Alice said, and they both turned their attention to her. “But Lauren made it clear to Angela that you—” she nodded to Rosalie “—would be seeking some kind of retribution.”

“For what?” Rosalie asked as she shook her head.

Alice’s expression hardened. “Ask Edward. I am _not_ repeating what Lauren said. I may very well strike her myself, if I do.”

Rosalie blinked as she stared at Alice. Lauren Mallory was a self-centered vapid little bitch, worse than she’d ever been, Rosalie thought. Alice had plenty of experience ignoring her and letting what she said roll off her back, so if Alice was upset enough to hit Lauren, it spoke volumes. Rosalie nodded once to Alice before turning her attention back to Angela’s car. Why hadn’t the girl emerged yet?

“Rose?” Emmett called to her when she shook her head and turned away.

“We both know that you’re going to go over there anyway,” Rosalie said, flicking her wrist to motion nonchalantly at Angela’s car. “So, you may as well do it.” She looked at Emmett when he remained silent, the weight of his stare calling her attention. “What?”

“Are you mad at her?” Emmett asked, his eyes narrowed in confusion.

Rosalie clenched her jaw as she turned her face away from him. “No.”

“Then what?” Emmett demanded.

“Just go to her,” she returned, glancing back at Emmett only to do a double-take at the concerned expression her bore. “I don’t know what I am,” she snapped, keeping her voice only loud enough for him to hear. “But I’m not mad at her.”

“Rosalie—”

“Just go over there, Emmett,” she interrupted him. “If I go over there, I don’t know what I’ll do. Just go.”

She watched him step away from her, his brow furrowed, and knew that in some manner, he was upset with her but what could she say? None of what she felt made any sense to her. She wanted an explanation, too, not that there was one to be had, she thought and began to step forward, only to still as she felt the weight of someone staring at her. Rosalie narrowed her eyes as she looked back at Alice, holding her sister’s gaze for a moment before turning to look at Jasper, and then finally glancing across the lot at Edward. All three of her siblings were focused on her, staring at her as though they understood everything that she didn’t.

These were her emotions, her thoughts, and it pissed her off to no end that they all seemed to understand what she was thinking and feeling better than she did. She wasn’t angry at Angela, she knew that much. She wasn’t envious of her, nor did she disapprove of her in any manner. What she did feel was protective—so _damn_ protective—of the girl that it confused the hell out of her and that confusion only served to irritate her more.

Angela was _human_ for crying out loud! She’d never even thought twice about the girl before, but for reasons she didn’t understand, Angela was all that occupied her mind lately. The notecards she had found from the girl’s parents when she had taken Angela home after she’d collapsed at the end of the school day less than two weeks ago, along with the journal entry she’d read in Angela’s own writing—Rosalie couldn’t rid herself of the memory of those things. She couldn’t forget how frightened and alone Angela had felt, or how comforted and grateful the girl had been when she’d laid down next to her in the bed and sang to her.

And that night, only a few days prior, when she had overheard Alice talking with Esme about her vision of Angela in the hospital—she’d been irritated that none of them had thought to tell her. She’d gone to see her after Edward had returned home, stood in the room and watched Angela sleep. She had intended to leave soon after—not even sure why she was there in the first place—but the very second she had smelled the scent of Angela’s fear had been her undoing. She still didn’t know why she’d run to Angela’s house to get that book, or why she’d run so damn fast to get back to the girl’s side, just to lie down next to her in the hospital bed and read it out loud to Angela while the girl slept in her arms.

What was worse, Rosalie thought, was that as glad as she was that no one had been there to witness her interactions with the girl, was as angry as she was that Angela didn’t remember them. And why was she so upset by that? She was certain that Angela would ask her questions—questions that she had no hope of answering. But now? Hearing from Alice that Angela was afraid of her, that she thought she had _any_ reason to be afraid of her, and that it was Lauren Mallory’s doing that made her so anxious. . .

Shaking her head as she turned away, Rosalie wished she could just stay away from Angela—wished for some kind of mastery over her own thoughts and hated that her reactions toward Angela felt so very far out of her own control. Narrowing her eyes as she stopped walking, Rosalie turned back around, finding Edward easily and glowering at him. Just what the hell had Lauren said to Angela, and why was Alice so certain that Angela would be afraid of her because of it?

“Not here,” Edward said as he stepped past her toward Emmett, Bella suspiciously absent. “She has a cold, or the beginnings of one. Charlie kept her home,” he said, answering her unspoken question.

“Why not tell me what Lauren said?” she asked, her tone clipped as her irritation rose further.

“Because I’ve already read Alice’s mind, and I’ve seen what happens if I do,” he answered her, his brow arched.

“And?” Rosalie demanded.

Edward lifted his chin as he stared at her. “You’d hit her, and you wouldn’t hold back.”

 

**~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~**

**  
**

Emmett frowned as he looked at Rosalie, wishing he understood her. She hadn’t seemed angry at all the night he had come to see Angela, the night he had found Rosalie lying next to her in the hospital bed and holding Angela while she slept. It didn’t make any sense to him that she was as angry as she was now, but maybe that was the point, he thought as he looked back to her, watching her stand with her arms crossed over her chest as though she were protecting herself. He narrowed his eyes as he studied her, the furrow between his brows growing deeper.

Maybe that was the issue, he thought. Maybe Rosalie didn’t understand her own feelings toward Angela. If that was it, it would certainly explain why she’d been giving him the silent treatment. Rosalie hated not being in the loop on whatever was going on, and to be left in the dark when it came to her own thoughts and emotions—that would be enough to drive anyone mad. He looked across the parking lot as he turned away from Rosalie, his sharp eyes catching the movement as Angela tipped her head back against the seat of her car.

The engine was still running, though the car had been parked for almost ten minutes now. What was she waiting for?

_Stay close enough to read her?_ Emmett requested, glancing back at Edward and waiting for his brother’s nod before he moved forward.

It didn’t take him more than a few steps to reach Angela’s car and he was hard pressed not to growl when he saw just how pale and drawn her face was. She didn’t move or respond when he opened her car door, offering only a paltry moan when he reached across her to turn off the car and take the keys from the ignition. There was no way in hell he’d let her drive home, he thought as he tucked her keys into his pocket. The state she was in now, it was a damn miracle she hadn’t crashed her car on the way here.

He looked back over his shoulder, catching Edward’s gaze, and frowned when his brother shook his head. Either Angela wasn’t actively thinking about anything, or she was too tired for Edward to read her thoughts with any clarity.

“The second one,” Edward said, his voice carrying to him from across the lot even as it remained too low for humans to hear.

“Em’t?” Emmett looked down at the barely intelligible mumble of his name, crouching down inside the open driver’s door as he looked up to meet Angela’s bleary gaze.

“I should get you home, half pint,” he told her, his brows drawing together when she paled further, stiffened in her seat and shook her head.

“No, I’m okay,” she argued, her words slurred together into one mumbled sound.

If he hadn’t been a vampire, Emmett thought, he wouldn’t have understood her. He looked back toward Edward, not surprised to find that he had moved closer, and was now standing next to the hood of the car.

“Pieces of things,” Edward said with a frown, his gaze focused on Angela. “Not enough of any one thing for me to make sense of it.”

Emmett looked back to Angela at the sound of her tired moan, the unsteady rhythm of her heart gaining speed as she gripped the steering wheel with her right hand, using it as leverage to get up. She whimpered as she frowned, the expression on her face making it clear that she didn’t understand why she was being held in place.

“Hold on, half pint,” Emmett said as he reached his arm across her lap, the latch of the seatbelt clicking as it released a second later. “I got it,” he told her as he caught the strap, easing it into place against the inside of the car before taking her hand to help her up. “You really should go home,” he told her again as she stood slowly on unsteady legs.

“I’m okay,” she mumbled, leaning heavily against his side.

Emmett kept his arm wrapped around her, holding her upright, as he moved away from the driver’s side and nodded his thanks when Edward opened the passenger door to grab Angela’s school bag. “She doesn’t have her purse,” Emmett said with a note of confusion. “Even when she’s just walking somewhere, she has it.”

“It wasn’t in the car,” Edward replied as he shut the passenger door. “She’s out,” he said, nodding to Angela.

Emmett tipped his head down to look at the girl tucked against his side, his lips pressed together in a thin line. He wanted her to go home, was ready to take her there himself, but even as out of it as she was, she had insisted she was fine. A bald-faced lie, he knew, but he also knew just how stubborn she could be. He could smell the traces of bile mixed in with the powerful mint of her mouthwash, a clear sign that she’d been sick last night and this morning. Humans may not notice it, he knew, but a vampire’s senses weren’t so easily fooled.

He didn’t jostle her or try to wake her, wrapping his arm tighter around her to secure his grip as he lifted her off the ground, carrying her mere inches above the ground, and making it look as though she were walking beside him. She whimpered as she turned her face into his shoulder, the shrill sound of the school bell waking her, and Emmett watched as she blinked in confusion at the area around them. She didn’t know where she was, he realized with alarm. Did she even remember driving to school?

“I doubt it,” Edward answered him, his voice only loud enough for Emmett to hear.

“I’ll come back for you after class,” Emmett promised her as he lowered Angela slowly into the seat at her desk, crouching down next to her as Edward set her backpack on the floor beside her chair.

She closed her eyes as she offered him a slow nod, and Emmett glanced to the side, watching as Edward shook his head. His brother still couldn’t make sense of Angela’s thoughts but one thing was certain, they would both be watching out for Angela as much as possible today.

“I have second period with her,” Edward said as he and Emmett walked out of the classroom and down the hall toward their own. “I’ll watch over her for you. Jasper and Rosalie should be in her class after that.”

Emmett nodded as he took his seat near the back of the class, grinding his teeth together, the muscle in his jaw ticking. He was barely able to keep himself in check as it was, if he even tried to speak, he was certain that he would lose what little control he had. She shouldn’t be here, he thought with an inward growl. She should be at home, tucked in bed, away from the cold and rain, not here surrounded by chaos and noise. If she was still this bad at the end of the day, he’d be taking her to Carlisle, he didn’t care if she argued with him about it or not.

He glanced to the side, narrowing his eyes in question as he arched a brow at Edward. _Mind sharing what has you so amused?_

“Angela,” Edward said softly, keeping his voice below the range of human hearing. “The poem Mrs. Berry has planned for tomorrow is one of Angela’s favorites. _Epitaph on a Beloved Friend_. She only chose that poem because Angela recommended it. She had been planning to do something less intense.”

_She likes Emily Dickinson and Ernest Hemingway, too,_ Emmett replied. _I don’t like this. Bella said she was fine yesterday, a little tired, maybe, but she was fine. What the hell happened between then and now?_

“I don’t know,” Edward replied as he looked back to the front of the class. “She’s too exhausted right now, her thoughts are too broken for me to follow. I doubt she’ll retain any memory of today at all.”

Emmett offered a short curt nod as he turned his attention to the window and stared outside. Beads of rain were slowly traversing the clear glass in haphazard lines, falling slowly, merging with each other only to separate once more. Thunder rumbled overhead and he growled in return, the sound melding with the storm and making it indistinguishable to the humans around him.

It took effort to stay in his seat, to appear unaffected, when all he wanted to do was take Angela and leave this place. Her illness bothered the hell out of him. The unsteady beat of her heart, the muscle weakness that had made her hands tremble and her balance precarious at best—for it all to have appeared overnight didn’t sit well with him at all. He growled in warning at the kick to his shin, turning his dark honey gaze on Edward only to look up at the front of the class when his name was called.

“Mister Cullen,” Mrs. Berry said with annoyance. “Good to see you’re back with us. If you’re done daydreaming, perhaps you can explain to us the meaning of the third stanza on page one-sixty-three.”

Emmett arched a brow when the bell rang, his gaze looking toward the analog clock above the blackboard as he offered a lopsided grin and stuffed his books back into his bag. He could feel Edward close behind him as he left the class, making his way easily through the students milling the halls until he reached the door of Angela’s first period classroom. His eyes narrowed as his irritation rose when he found her absent among the students leaving the room, and glanced back to see the concern marring Edward’s brow.

Edward nodded toward the open doorway, and Emmett looked back, his eyes widening to see the teacher kneeling next to Angela’s desk. She was folded over the desk, her head resting on her arms, the pallor of her complexion worse than it had been before—a green tinge, the only color to her otherwise ashen face. Emmett could hear the teacher calling Angela’s name as he stepped inside the room with Edward, and watched as the man cupped his palm over her forehead.

“She has a mild fever,” Edward told him, keeping his voice too low for humans to hear. “She left class twice saying that she was sick and he’s concerned that he’s having trouble waking her.”

He didn’t wait for anything else as he stepped forward, dropping his backpack to the floor beside Angela’s desk as he took the teacher’s place, barely taking notice that the man had stood and was talking with Edward while he looked after Angela. She didn’t respond when he called to her the first time, but moaned pitifully the second, her arm slipping off the desk to wrap over her stomach as her face twisted in misery.

“Half pint?” Emmett called to her again as he framed her face with his hands, watching as her eyes fluttered, and counted her heartbeats until she finally looked at him.

“She shouldn’t be here if she’s this sick,” the teacher said as he stepped closer to Emmett, handing him a pink hall slip when Emmett glanced up at him. “I’m half tempted to tell you to take her home or to your foster father,” he said in reference to Carlisle. “But it’s not my decision to make. That decision has to come from the front office.”

“I’m all right,” Angela said, her words slurred together into one continuous sound as she groaned and tried to push herself upright.

“The hell you are,” Emmett returned, his tone darkened by the edges of a growl as he watched her try to stand.

He caught her around the waist when she fell, swinging her up into his arms, holding her closer when she shivered and curled against him. He shushed her when she called his name, promised that he would take care of her, and watched as she blinked up at him slowly. Her eyes closed one final time as she succumbed to the exhaustion she felt, her head falling to rest against his shoulder. Emmett held her closer as he turned, tightening his arms around her carefully when Edward stepped closer.

Edward nodded, lifting his hands in front of him in surrender as a show of understanding for what Emmett hadn’t said as he backed away and looked to the teacher. “We’ll take her down to the nurse’s office. Would it be all right if we left our bags here?”

“Of course,” the man said and lifted the bags from the floor. “They’ll be behind my desk.”

Emmett stilled when Angela’s hand snaked under the open collar of the button-down. His eyes widened, his gaze snapping to meet Edward’s when Angela curled closer to him instead of flinching away.

“She’s done that before?” Edward asked when they stepped into the empty hall.

“When I’ve held her at night while she’s sleeping,” he said, keeping his voice too low for anyone to overhear. “She doesn’t shy away from my coldness, she always pushes closer. But she’s never been awake before when she’s done so.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call her awake,” Edward denied with an arch of his brow. “I—”

“Edward?” Emmett called to him when he stopped walking, his brother’s gaze focused on Angela. “What?”

“Her thoughts just now,” he said with a frown. “I can’t tell if it was a passing thought or a memory or something else . . . “ He trailed off as he narrowed his eyes, stepping close enough to cup Angela’s cheek in his palm. “We should take her home,” he said, and Emmett frowned at how deliberate his brother’s words were. “She shouldn’t be at school if she’s this sick.”

“Edward what--?” Emmett began, only to fall silent when Edward held up his hand to quiet him, his gaze focused on Angela.

“Her thoughts are still too jumbled to read clearly, but she’s afraid of going home,” Edward said, his frown deepening as he shook his head. “Missing school.“ He shook his head again. “There’s something there, I just can’t read what it is.”

Emmett stared at him for a moment longer, watching as Edward remained focused on Angela, only to finally back away. He stared after Edward as he turned away, moving down the hall toward the administration offices, and narrowed his eyes. Whatever Edward had read from Angela had upset him, that much was clear, but he hadn’t been able to read enough to get a full picture, and maybe that was what upset him the most.

Emmett pressed his lips together in a thin line as he looked down at the human girl cradled in his arms, and turned his head to rub his cheek against her hair when she whimpered in her sleep. That hadn’t been the first time someone else had mentioned Angela being afraid, Rosalie had said the same thing once before, and Emmett’s own experiences with Angela had hinted to something deeper—darker—than her thoughts had ever let Edward see before. He didn’t like it at all, Emmett thought, unable to suppress the growl that rumbled deep in his chest, and looked down quickly when Angela moved in his hold.

His brow furrowed as he carried her, his eyes narrowing as he stared at her curiously. He decided to try it again, watching Angela as he growled low, and shook his head when she curled closer to him. Everything that should have been a warning to the sleeping girl, drew her closer instead. Those things that made him what he was—the chill of his skin, the vibrations through his chest when he growled, even when the sound was too low for a human to hear—these things brought her comfort and, although it amused him, he didn’t understand why.

Why take comfort from the feel of his skin—cold to the touch and hard as stone—or the vibrations of his growls? He glanced up, offering Edward a nod of thanks as his brother held the office door open for him, and again when he moved to hold open the door of the nurse’s office. Why did she feel safe enough with him to fall asleep against him time and time again? And why did she always seem so afraid of him knowing just how alone she really was?

“Don’t,” Edward cautioned, his voice below the range of human hearing, and Emmett looked up at him with a frown of confusion.

“I’m sure it didn’t need to take the both of you to bring Miss Weber down here,” Nurse Wilder said, her voice grating and rough. She raised her arm, heaving a rasping smoker’s cough into the bend of her elbow as she shuffled closer to them. “What’s she complaining of this time?”

“Emmett,” Edward warned when he began to growl, keeping his voice below what the woman could hear.

Emmett narrowed his eyes as he stared at old Nurse Wilder, daring her to say something else about Angela. She was a hard and cantankerous old woman, well past her retirement age. None of the student body liked her, the evidence of that clear enough in the things he’d overheard the students say time and again. He’d never had occasion to meet her before, but the thought of leaving Angela here with her bothered him.

There were no soft comforts, nothing that even looked inviting or soothing. There were no blankets, barely anything that passed for a pillow, unless that’s what the flat white thing was supposed to be. He looked around for something better, something softer than the four blue rubber cots that surrounded him, but found nothing that would suffice. She should be at home, in a soft bed, surrounded by pillows and blankets, not here in this cold room, he thought.

“She needs to go home,” Emmett said as he carefully laid Angela down upon the rubber encased mattress and looked for something to cover her with when she shivered.

“Miss Weber has been in here several times before and no matter how sickly she is, she won’t go home until the end of the school day,” Nurse Wilder told him matter-of-factly as he finally gave up looking for a sheet or blanket and took off the black and white-striped baseball jacket he wore, blanketing her with the light coat.

“What do you mean ‘she won’t go home’?” he demanded an explanation as he stood, towering over the barely five-foot woman.

“She’s not your concern, Mister Cullen. Go back to class,” the tone of her voice unkind and dismissive.

“The _hell_ she’s not my concern,” he argued as he stared down at the old woman, his protective instincts too strong to be ignored.

“Are you family?” she asked, her tone and stance unchanging.

“No,” he said as he stared at her.

“Then she’s not your concern. Go to class.”

Clenching his jaw against the desire to growl at the woman, Emmett stepped over to the side of the bed Angela was resting on and knelt down beside her. When he brushed her hair back from her face, she opened her eyes, staring at him through a half-lidded exhausted gaze. Humans were unspeakably fragile and he hated how labored her breaths were, the sluggish beat of her heart upsetting him further. Bending closer, he kissed her forehead, the brotherly gesture meant to soothe her was also the silent promise of his protection.

“I’ll come for you at the end of the day if I don’t see you in history class,” he promised her, his voice soft. “Your school bag is right here with you, by the end of the bed.”

“Where am I?” she asked, her barely audible words slurred with exhaustion.

“Nurse’s office,” he told her, and brushed the backs of his fingers down her cheek. “I’ll be back for you. Just rest now, ok?”

She nodded, the motion barely perceptible, only to squeeze her eyes closed, folding in on herself as she turned onto her side. Emmett looked up when Edward appeared by his side, a trashcan in his hand, and nodded as he moved back. Angela moaned the very second Edward set the metal can down beside her bed, moving closer as she threw up a bit of bile.

“My water,” she asked weakly, and Emmett took the bottle from her bag before pressing it into her hand.

“I will not write either of you a pass for being late,” Nurse Wilder warned, her irritation at their presence clear in her tone. “That’s the final bell. Your tardiness is on you.”

“Let’s go,” Edward said as he tapped Emmett’s shoulder. “She’s safe here,” he reminded him.

_I want her home or at least someplace better than this._

“I know you do,” Edward replied as he herded Emmett out of the Nurse’s office and back out into the school’s hallway. “But I didn’t need Alice’s visions to know that you were two steps shy of telling that woman off. It’s one thing to protect her when we can, but we can’t expose ourselves for what we are.”

“I wouldn’t have done that,” Emmett snapped at him as they came back to the classroom. “Besides, no one likes Nurse Wilder,” he said as he nodded his thanks to the teacher, gathering his and Edward’s bags.

“Apparently, not even the staff,” Edward replied as they stepped into the hall.

 


	4. Chapter 3 "Damning Proof"

A.N.: The Twilight Saga, both the books and movies, and all recognizable characters are the sole property of Stephanie Meyer. While I am borrowing the characters for a little while, this story is my own. No copyright infringement is intended. This story is canon AU, the characters and, a few moments in the stories, are a blend between the books and movies. Angela Weber, for instance, is the movie version, and not the book’s original description. Though this story will, at times, show all the relationships both familial and romantic between the couples, the main focus is on Angela Weber and how she becomes a member of the Cullen family.

Summary: Emmett had never thought much of Angela Weber until he was paired with her for a history assignment in class. She had always been just another one of Bella’s friends, someone whom he looked out for because Bella did. But then one day he learned that the girl who always seemed so silent was the one person who was screaming the loudest, and what kind of protector would he be to ignore the cries of an innocent in pain?

 

 

Roses in Winter

By WhisperingWolf

**_Book One: Shattering Glass_ **

Chapter 3

_Damning Proof_

 

 

Time was moving too damn slow, Emmett thought as he walked beside Rosalie into the lunchroom, sitting down beside her at the table he and his family always occupied. He narrowed his eyes when he looked at Alice and Jasper, finding both of them to be watching him closely, and turned his head, arching his brow when he found Edward doing the same. Being here was pissing him off, he wanted to go to the Nurse’s office and check on Angela, just enough to reassure himself that she was still there, that she was all right.

“Don’t,” Alice said, and Emmett turned to meet her stare. “You’ll only make things worse, if you do.”

“I should at least call Carlisle,” Emmett argued with her. “You didn’t see her, Alice. She could barely stand up. I had to carry her.”

“She’ll be in history class with you, I can see her next to you when I look into your future,” she told him, her face a mask of concern. “Don’t let her drive home.”

The hell he’d be letting her drive home, he thought. He already had her keys tucked in his pocket anyway. But what he really wanted to do was take her home—to their home—in order to keep watch over her as she recovered. And even if he couldn’t take her back to their house, there was no way in hell he’d be leaving her side until she was well again.

“Emmett, I don’t think that’s a wise idea,” Edward said in reference to his thoughts.

“Whether you agree with it or not,” Alice said distractedly before Emmett could say anything, “he’s going to do it.”

“You two can be damn annoying sometimes,” Emmett groused, Rosalie nodding while Jasper simply studied him. “What?” he asked, looking at the southern vampire.

“You feel very protective of her,” Jasper told his brother needlessly. “It’s the same emotions that I felt coming from you during the weeks following James’ attack on Bella. What is it about Angela that makes you feel so protective?”

Emmett turned his head to meet Rosalie’s gaze. They’d both been with Angela, talked to each other about it as much as either of them were comfortable with. And, though it hadn’t been a mutual decision on either of their parts, they had both taken to blocking Edward. Emmett was almost certain that Angela was being abused or mistreated in some manner, and Rosalie? Rosalie watched over Angela in a way that he’d never seen her do with anyone. If that wasn’t enough evidence for him that Angela was being abused, then today had definitely sealed the deal for him.

He looked up at the sound of Edward’s sharp intake of air, staring at his brother only to realize too late that he hadn’t shielded his thoughts.

“I have to agree with you,” Edward said, drawing the attention of the rest of his family.

“Damnit,” Emmett growled. He hadn’t intended to say anything—thoughts or otherwise—until he knew for certain.

“What?” Alice asked as she looked between them.

“He thinks she’s being abused,” Edward said. “I know you’re not sure, but with the things you keep thinking about, the way I’ve seen both you and Rosalie guard her, and with what Carlisle told me, it all adds up. We won’t say anything to her; I know you don’t want us to.”

Emmett glanced to the side, his eyes meeting Jasper’s across the table before he turned to Edward. He knew it would be simple enough to recall the conversation that had taken place this morning with Carlisle and Esme, but Edward hadn’t been the only who was absent and Alice couldn’t read thoughts. It didn’t mean that she hadn’t seen it though, he thought as he reviewed the conversation with Alice and Edward. Jasper offered his own observations and thoughts on the matter as well, but Rosalie remained silent.

Emmett shook his head as he revealed his interactions with Angela, Edward adding in what Bella had told him. Angela had been fine the day before. A little tired perhaps, but no sign of the illness that plagued her today. It didn’t make any sense for her to be this sick, certainly not to the degree that she was. It was all too much, Emmett thought as he clenched his jaw, tried to gain some control over the impatience that left him irritable. His conversation with Angela the night before about her paper, her condition today, not to mention the nurse’s callous attitude toward her—all of it had put his protective instincts into overdrive and it was a constant battle not to simply storm into the office and take her home, whether anyone in his family or the school administration liked it or not.

“Emmett,” Alice called to him, and he met her gaze only to watch her shake her head. He sighed as he bit back a growl. “I still can’t see her directly, but I can see pieces of her when I look for everyone else. I’ll help you keep an eye on her,” Alice promised.

“Her emotions are steadier when she’s around you,” Jasper said as he looked at Emmett. “I haven’t had much time near her alone to focus just on her, but she does seem very close to you.” Jasper blinked as he looked at Rosalie. “Whatever interactions you two have had,” he told her. “Angela is more confused by you than anything—and anxious. She is definitely afraid of you in some manner.”

Rosalie remained silent, as she glanced away from Jasper. She looked disinterested, but Emmett knew differently. He’d seen her with Angela, listened to the tone of her voice as she’d read to Angela that night almost two weeks ago now, and he knew that she cared far more than she was willing to let on. He offered her a pouting smile when she took hold of his hand and raised it to her face to kiss his bent fingers. It was her way of telling him that she would protect Angela the same as he would, no matter her current objections. Lifting their joined hands, Emmett kissed her knuckles and smiled his thanks.

“I don’t think it’d be possible for any one of us to ignore her now,” Edward said as he looked between Emmett and Rosalie. “Even Esme wants to keep an eye on her and she hasn’t even met her yet.” He looked to Emmett. “I know you don’t like waiting, but if you were to take her out of here now, I fear it would only make things worse.”

“Like what?” Emmett asked, barely restraining himself from snapping.

“Everything,” Alice replied simply.

 

**~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~**

**  
**

Carlisle frowned as he stepped into his office inside Fork’s Hospital. He had never minded assisting in the emergency room when they were short staffed. It often kept him busy on the days when he had no surgeries scheduled, but today, every question, every comment, every tick of the clock seemed to annoy him—irritate him—and he had no explanation for his short temper at all.

It had taken all his willpower simply to remain focused and cordial, and he couldn’t understand it. Even when he was at his wit’s end with his own children, he’d never felt quite so unnerved before. Taking in a deep breath as he searched for some semblance of balance, he moved to sit behind his desk, pulling his journal and pen from the drawer he’d stowed them in earlier. Opening the journal to the entry he’d begun earlier, he frowned, his thoughts once more turning to Angela Weber.

_I have finally taken my lunch break now, and though I have never found a use for it previously, I have been questioned recently by Camille as to why I’m not taking it. She is quite observant for a human, though I’m certain that having a husband who is an Army Ranger helps her in that regard. I have come back to this journal as in the time since I left it; my mind has been filled with the statements made by Rosalie this morning. She told me that when she was with Angela at her house, the girl talked in her sleep, stated of being in pain. From what my daughter said, nothing has been able to alleviate Angela’s pain, but as she also said, there was nothing to tell of what her pain was from._

_I am finding it very difficult to look at this situation dispassionately, especially after the night I spent with her here in the hospital. Something isn’t right, but I fear that it may be more than what either Emmett, or I have suspected. From my observations of her, she is too thin, and she is terribly frightened. I can still feel her hand gripping mine like some kind of specter seeking safety. I felt it stronger that night, but I still feel it now, the need to protect her. If it is in my power to help her, to keep her from harm, then I will. She reminds me too much of Esme for me to allow her suffering to continue. I will return later as it appears that my respite has ended, as I am once more being paged to the E.R._

 

**~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~**

Edward’s eyes widened when he caught sight of Angela walking down the hallway, her hand trailing over the lockers and along the wall. She stopped every few steps, her face paling as she closed her eyes. He could see the muscle in her jaw ticking as she ground her teeth together, her nostrils flaring as she took in a series of short breaths. Her hand was pressed against her stomach, and for the first time that day, Edward was glad Charlie had kept Bella home when she’d shown signs of having a cold.

He shook his head before moving down the hall, stopping beside her as he waited for her to notice him. Her thoughts were muddled—half-formed—making it difficult to read them, but what he could see told him that she’d been sick three times since he and Emmett had left her in the nurse’s office. She shouldn’t be here, he thought as he watched her look up at him only to realize that she could barely see him, the exhaustion clouding her mind making it difficult for her to focus her eyes at all.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Edward said as he tucked Angela under his arm against his side. “Shh,” he soothed her when she trembled against him, her teeth chattering as she huddled inside of Emmett’s borrowed coat.

She looked tiny to him, fragile, and he winced when she whimpered, only to bite back a growl at her thoughts. She wouldn’t be here now, in the halls, struggling to stay upright, if it hadn’t been for the nurse. The old woman had decided that since Angela couldn’t sleep, she was well enough to return to class.

Edward rubbed his hand over Angela’s shoulder, soothing her when she grunted and stopped walking, her chin trembling as she tightened her arms over her stomach. “We’re almost there,” he soothed her, wrapping his arm lower around her waist and glanced around before lifting her just enough that he could carry her without anyone seeing that she wasn’t actually walking. “Here we are,” he said softly as he set her on her feet once more, and shook his head when he realized that she was barely conscious.

“T-tables?” she stuttered, her voice barely a whisper.

“He’s showing a movie today,” Edward replied. “Alice saved a seat for you with us. You can sleep, if you like.”

“Sleep?” she repeated dumbly. _I don’t want to be sick anymore,_ she thought, a broken whimper coming from her.

“I know,” he soothed her, hugging her against his side, his lips curling up to one side as he listened to her thoughts.

_Edward’s really sweet. I hope Bella knows how lucky she is. Ben won’t even come near me anymore._

Edward growled before he could silence it, shaking his head when Angela pressed closer to him instead of pulling away, too out of it to realize she’d done anything at all. She hadn’t done anything to anyone, he thought, yet Lauren Mallory had still somehow made the rumor of Angela coming between Emmett and Rosalie spread like wildfire. There were even a few teachers who believed that rumor—and the new one. With her illness today, someone—he wasn’t sure exactly who—had decided that Angela was pregnant.

“Here,” Alice said as Edward neared their table, and reached up to guide Angela as Edward helped her into the empty seat. “It’ll be all right,” she soothed Angela, and looked up when Emmett stepped toward them from the front of the class.

“Don’t worry about falling asleep, half pint,” Emmett said as he took his seat beside Angela, opposite Alice. “It’s all taken care of.”

“Sleep?” she repeated, her brows furrowing as she reached for her backpack.

Edward’s eyes widened as his gaze snapped to Alice, watching as she snatched away the bottle of water Angela held only to replace it with a cool bottle of orange juice. The water was making her sick? It didn’t make any sense, he thought, and met Alice’s gaze.

_I don’t know if it’s the water or not, only that when I saw her drinking it, she became sick again_ , Alice answered him in her thoughts. “Trust me,” Alice said quietly when Angela frowned at her in confusion. “The orange juice will help you feel better.”

“I got it, half pint,” Emmett said when she grimaced as she struggled to break the seal of the bottle cap.

Edward removed the coat he wore, folding it into a makeshift pillow and handed it to Alice when Angela’s mind grew still, her thoughts drifting away. It was only seconds later that Angela was asleep between Emmett and Alice, her arms wrapped around the makeshift pillow, her face hidden in the folds of the jacket.

“Go,” Edward told Emmett, his voice below the range of human hearing. “Rosalie’s already outside waiting for the two of you with Jasper,” he said when the teacher turned away, the room dark for the movie.

Emmett nodded as he stood, lifting Angela into his arms, and disappearing in the next second, Alice by his side with Angela’s water bottle in her hand. He hadn’t needed any further instruction, his impatience to take her from this place finally sated as he carried her outside of the school building, only barely taking notice when Alice disappeared in the opposite direction. Angela whimpered as she curled closer to him, shivering as burrowed closer, seeking some kind of warmth, he imagined.

“I’m sorry, half pint,” Emmett said as he neared the jeep. “I know I’m not warm.”

“Safe,” she whispered in her sleep.

“I’ll always keep you safe,” he promised, nodding his thanks when Rosalie opened the front passenger side door.

“Here, put her in the front,” she instructed, waiting for Emmett to lower the human girl into the seat before she snapped the four-point harness in place.

“R’s’lie?” Angela mumbled. “S’ry.”

“Shh. You just go to sleep,” she soothed, brushing the backs of her fingers down Angela’s cheek. “You’ll feel better soon.”

“M’kay,” she mumbled, her heartbeat falling into a slower, steadier rhythm as her breaths became deeper.

“She’s shivering,” Rosalie said, meeting Emmett’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “She needs something warmer.”

He nodded before turning his attention on Angela, brushing the backs of his fingers over her cheek when she groaned, tucking her hair behind her ear as he backed out of the parking space. “Go to sleep, half pint,” he soothed her, making his way out to the main road. “We’ll take care of you.”

 

**~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~**

**  
**

Carlisle looked up at the feel of a new presence in the room, glancing to the side and finding Alice standing by his wall of medical texts. He sat back as he studied her, unable to decide if she was just unsettled, angry, or both. She turned to face him, shaking her head before looking away as she tossed the half bottle of water in her hand to him. He caught it easily, his brows furrowing in confusion.

“Ali—”

“I’m so angry, I could scream,” she said softly, turning to him when he set the bottle aside on his desk and stood to move toward her. “It is nearly impossible for me to see Angela directly in my visions, and the ones that do come through are either horribly blurred or just _pieces_ that don’t make any sense at all.”

“And the water?” he asked as he studied her, knowing that she wouldn’t be welcoming of comfort at the current moment.

“Angela,” she said simply.

Carlisle shook his head. “I’m afraid, I don’t understand.”

Alice turned to face him, taking in a deep breath and releasing it in a harsh sigh. She looked ready to hit something, perhaps even ready to scream as she had spoken of moments ago, but the second he held out his hand to her, she fell against his chest. Carlisle wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on her hair as she clung to him. Of all his children, Alice was the one who hated feeling angry, the one who would often reach a level of frustration that made her cry rather than act out. Perhaps it was her visions, he thought, recalling how Jasper had once told him that Alice didn’t simply see her visions, but felt the emotions that went with them as well.

“Did Angela upset you?” he asked her calmly.

“Yes, and no,” Alice replied, pulling back as she shook her head. “You’ve felt it, too,” she said, and he shook his head in confusion. “I can see it in your eyes, I’ve seen it when I’ve watched you today. I thought it was just us because we were there with her.”

“With who?” he asked, watching as she moved to sit in one of the visitor’s chairs, pulling her feet up onto the edge of the chair before wrapping her arms around her legs.

“Angela,” she said softly. “That sense of frustration and impatience that’s had you near your snapping point all day,” she said. Carlisle frowned as he tipped his head to one side, his eyes wide. “We’ve all felt it. Angela is . . .  She’s sick, _horribly_ sick. I don’t even know how she made it to school without getting into an accident. She shouldn’t have been driving!”

“Alice. . . “ Carlisle shook his head. “I’m going to need you to start at the beginning.”

“Emmett’s about to call you,” she told him. “He and Rosalie took Angela back to her house to dress her in something warmer. She’s been shivering all day.”

Carlisle turned away from her when his cellphone rang, taking the device from the side of his desk to answer it. “Emmett,” he greeted his son.

“We should be there soon,” Emmett said, and Carlisle frowned. “This _isn’t_ natural,” he insisted, his voice tight with anger. “She was _fine_ yesterday.”

Carlisle blinked as he looked at the silent device, uncertain if Emmett meant to disconnect the call or not. He turned his attention back to Alice, watching as she pressed the index and middle fingers of each hand against her temples.

“It almost hurts to search for her directly,” Alice said, her voice soft and strained. “I never get anything from the lunch line or the vending machines. There’s no point in it, but today I knew—I _knew_ —I needed to get a bottle of orange juice during the last class change, I just didn’t know why. And then, in our last class together—history—I saw Angela take a drink of her water,” she said, nodding to the bottle on his desk, “and I saw her become violently ill after. I took away the water before she could drink it, but she was so weak she couldn’t even grip the juice I gave her enough to open it. Emmett had to do that for her. She barely knew where she was.” Alice shook her head, her lips pressed together as she looked away, collecting herself before returning her gaze to Carlisle’s. “I don’t know why the water’s making her sick, but I also know that she _doesn’t_ know it’s the water that’s at fault.”

Carlisle pressed his lips together as he crouched beside Alice’s chair. “Alice,” he called to her, looking up to meet her gaze when she turned her head to face him. “I don’t understand.”

“Well that makes two of us,” she told him stiffly. “ _Nothing_ about this makes any sense, and it’s had all of us on edge all day, but I thought only we were affected so much because we could see her, because we were there with her, but I know—I can _see_ —you’ve felt the same upset we have.”

Studying her for a moment longer, Carlisle stood from his crouch, moving to answer the soft knock at his office door. His brow furrowed as he watched Edward enter the room first, Emmett trailing behind him with Angela cradled in his arms and wrapped in a blanket.

“She wouldn’t give up my coat,” Emmett said, a bittersweet grin twisting his lips up to one side as he carried her to the couch. She moaned when he laid her down, her eyes fluttering as she searched for him. “I’m right here next to you, half pint,” he soothed her. “Let Carlisle look you over okay?”

Edward shook his head. “She’s still too out of it to understand what’s going on,” he said, his eyes narrowing as he stared at Angela before moving quickly to retrieve the trashcan from beside Carlisle’s desk and set it down next to the couch by Angela’s head.

“I’ve got her,” Emmett said as he helped Angela onto her side seconds before she vomited into the trashcan. “She was thirsty when we took her home,” he said, looking to Carlisle. “There was an open bottle of water on her desk. I didn’t see any harm in giving it to her, but as soon as I did . . . even the slightest vibration is making her throw up right now.”

“Edward?” Carlisle called to him when he saw the confusion marring his son’s brow.

Edward shook his head. “She just wants Emmett back. She’s cold without him. It doesn’t make sense,” he said as he looked up to meet Carlisle’s gaze. “She should be warmer.”

“Perhaps it’s more emotional and less physical,” Carlisle theorized as he sat on the couch next to Angela’s hip, and reached out to touch her cheek and then her brow. “She has a fever, but not a very high one. Nothing that would account for this,” he said with confusion.

He should check the bottle, he thought as he glanced back at his desk. There was a lab downstairs, he could easily test the water there, it wouldn’t take him as long as it would humans to look through the slides. Carlisle blinked, his gaze snapping to the side as he stared at Alice when she growled, Edward following soon after.

“Are you _kidding_ me?” Alice snapped, barely keeping her voice low enough so as not to disturb Angela.

“Alice?” Carlisle called to her. “What is it?”

“The test results from the water,” Edward answered him instead. “When you made the decision to test it, she could see the results.”

“Alice?” Carlisle turned his focus on her.

“Ipecac,” Alice said stiffly. “The water is all laced with Ipecac.”

“What do you mean _all_?” Emmett demanded.

“All the bottles—every one of them—from that one,” she nodded to Carlisle’s desk. “To the one you gave her from her desk, to all the ones left behind in her house. They’re _all_ laced with ipecac.”

“Her illness is intentional,” Carlisle said, confusion warring with authority. “Who would do this?”

Alice shook her head as she looked toward the door, moving easily into Jasper’s arms when he stepped into the office. “Let’s go,” she told him, before looking to Emmett. “We’ll meet you there, Rosalie is . . . She’s just confused right now,” she offered with a shrug. “She’ll come around,” she promised before slipping out of the office with Jasper.

“There were new scents in her home when we took her there,” Emmett said as he turned to meet Carlisle’s gaze. “Her parents are home—or at least they were.”

“Emmett,” Carlisle cautioned as he held his gaze for a moment longer before turning his face away in silent denial.

“She’s always alone,” Emmett said with disapproval. “Always nervous or scared in some manner. The only time I’ve ever seen her sleep well is when I’m holding her—or Rosalie is.”

“Rosalie holds her while she sleeps?” Carlisle asked, recalling the night he’d seen her do so when Angela slept in the hospital.

Emmett shrugged as he offered a lopsided smile. “Only when no one else is around. I’m the only one she’s let see her with Angela. ‘Cept maybe Alice,” he said with amusement. “Nobody can hide from her.”

“She’s awake enough to hear you now,” Edward said.

Carlisle nodded as he turned his attention back to the girl resting on the couch beside him. “Angela,” Carlisle called to her, his voice gentle and compassionate as he touched her cheek. “Sweetheart, can you hear me?”

Edward looked at her face, her eyes barely open. “She can hear you,” he confirmed. “But she can’t respond, she can’t focus her mind enough to speak,” he said, the expression on his face telling his father that he would translate her thoughts.

Carlisle nodded and tucked her hair behind her ear. “Angela, how long have you been sick?”

“Since yesterday afternoon, just after she got home from school. She—” He shook his head as he frowned. “Her thoughts aren’t making much sense. She’s exhausted,” Edward said as he knelt by the arm of the couch and studied her. “She was up all night. There’s something more there, but her thoughts are too muddled for me to see them clearly. All she wants is Emmett.” He frowned as he stared at her. “Your name,” he said as he looked up at Emmett, “and _safe_ keep tumbling over each other. It’s not making sense to me.”

“It’s all right, Sweetheart,” Carlisle told her when she opened her eyes, staring up at him through half-lidded, sleep-blurred eyes.

Angela’s breaths came in short broken pants as though the act of being awake was exhausting in and of itself. Something was keeping her awake, more than her nausea, more than an illness. She was searching for something. He watched as she pushed her arm up out of the folds of the blanket, the elastic cuff of Emmett’s baseball jacket tugged up to her elbow, restrained by the blanket wrapped around her. Carlisle’s eyes snapped to her arm, watching as the fitted cuff barely touched her as it was pushed back. She uttered a little sound, the beat of her heart growing faster as its cadence faltered, skipping a beat before catching its rhythm once more. He understood the choked sound, the broken whimper she unconsciously repeated, and met her gaze before slowly looking up to the side.

“He’s right here with you,” he promised her, meeting Emmett’s gaze briefly before looking back to Angela. “Go back to sleep, you’ll feel better soon.”

He petted her hair in long slow strokes, soothing her as he studied her scent, her complexion. There was no infection to sour her blood, no illness or virus that had left her in the condition she was in. That this had been done to her— _willfully_ —angered and worried him beyond measure. He didn’t want to believe what Emmett had insinuated, that her parents were responsible for her condition, but the evidence was damning. What else did she face— _had_ she faced—that they didn’t know about?

“Take her home, Emmett. Alice will be staying with you and Angela at her home for the next few days,” Carlisle told him as he tucked Angela’s arm inside the blanket once more, watching her as she quieted. Her eyes remained open, though he was certain she still didn’t understand what was going on or where she was. She was searching for something, he thought, something she wouldn’t be content without. “Make sure she gets at least eight hours of uninterrupted sleep—when she’s able to. For the first several—possibly the first twenty-four—hours it’s going to be difficult for her to sleep for long periods of time. She may continue to be nauseous until tomorrow morning, at the very least.”

“Emmett,” Edward called to him as he nodded for Carlisle to move away. “She’s not going to settle down enough to sleep until she knows you’re close again,” he said.

Carlisle offered a pouting smile as he looked down, nodding as he watched Emmett lift Angela’s blanket-wrapped body in his arms, cradling the human girl against his chest. There was no hesitation, no discomfort, as he watched Angela curl against Emmett, tucking her face into the curve of Emmett’s throat as she whimpered.

“She’s out,” Edward confirmed a few moments later.

Carlisle nodded with a soft grin as he looked to Emmett. “Don’t let her walk on her own, and do not let her drive. Keep her warm—blankets, or a heating pad. It’s going to be difficult for her to regulate her body heat until she gains a bit more weight,” he said as he studied the girl’s forearm, her hand appearing out of the folds of the blanket to curl around Emmett’s shirt. Humans would describe her as being willowy, or thin because of her height—a model’s figure—but as a doctor he knew better. “Try to get her to eat, or drink something—soda crackers, or ginger ale would be best. Call me at once if her condition does not improve.”

Emmett nodded as he turned toward the door. He paused, a frown marring his brow as he turned back to look at Edward.

Edward shook his head. “I don’t know, you’d have to ask Rosalie.” Emmett nodded once more before he left the office, and Edward turned to look at Carlisle. “Emmett and Rosalie have been trading off reading to Angela at night. They don’t do it every night, maybe a few times a week, but if Angela looks tired or distressed at school, they’ll both go to her at night. It’s something they’ve both found that settles her.” He smiled as he tipped his head.

“Settles her?” Carlisle repeated with a shake of his head.

“Neither of them is sure if it’s nightmares or something else, but today at lunch, they finally let me in. Angela never seems to sleep very deeply or very well, until one of them sneaks into her room while she’s sleeping. As soon as they lie down next to her, she curls against them. Emmett loves it—he finally gets to be a big brother again. He keeps thinking she reminds him of Katie—his younger sister when he was mortal. They were very close.”

“And Rosalie?” Carlisle asked when Edward fell silent.

Edward frowned as he looked toward the window before turning back to meet Carlisle’s gaze. He shook his head. “Rosalie loves it as much as Emmett does, but she’s deeply confused by it, by her own connection to Angela. She sees her differently, in a way that she doesn’t understand. She’s already accepted Angela as part of our family, but she doesn’t understand why and that is making her edgy and unstable. The more she wants to go to Angela—to comfort her or protect her—the more she wants to run away from her,” Edward revealed, his brows rising and falling in a shrug. “I know she’s angry at me for reading her thoughts—mostly because she doesn’t understand them herself, yet.”

“Do you?” Carlisle asked curiously.

Edward’s lips twitched with amusement as he shook his head and looked down with a breathy laugh. “No, not completely, but Esme does. I think she has for a while now, but she’s been blocking me from reading that particular part of her mind. I don’t think she wants anyone else to know until Rosalie’s figured it out for herself.”

 

**~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~**

Emmett turned his head, looking at the girl in the seat next to him. She stirred almost the moment he’d lowered her into the seat, her eyes fluttering without opening when he’d strapped her into the four-point harness. The ride back to her house from Fork’s Hospital was short, but the drive hadn’t been smooth. Twice now, he’d had to stop, letting the jeep idle on the side of the road until her erratic heart slowed, her breathing returning to the deeper rhythms that were almost sleep. And all the while, he thought as he looked down at her lap, she refused to let go of his hand.

It was a small concession, one that he barely noticed, but it brought her undeniable comfort. She wouldn’t sleep if he let go of her hand, stirring each time he’d needed to let go just long enough to shift gears. She would search for him, her eyes barely open, and the tiny broken whimpers that sounded from her telling him she wasn’t truly awake. But as soon as he took her hand again, she would quiet down, a soft broken sigh rolling from her as her eyes fluttered closed once more.

_“Your name and_ safe _keep tumbling over each other.”_

Edward’s words echoed through his mind. His brother had said that he didn’t understand what it meant, but Emmett did. It wasn’t a new thing to him by any means. That first day, back when he’d only gone home with her out of concern for her driving, back before he really knew anything about her, she had fallen asleep against his side. It had seemed odd to him at first, that she would fall asleep so easily, but in the moments that followed when he’d carried her up the stairs to her room, that had been the first time he’d ever heard her mumble the word— _safe_.

The next time she’d fallen asleep against him—a few days later when they’d been putting their research together for their presentation—she’d said it again. _Safe_. And each time after, whether she fell asleep against him or he’d snuck into her bedroom through her window and laid down beside her when she was sleeping, each and every time she curled against him, without fail, she whispered that same word— _safe._

It hadn’t taken him to long to learn that she was alone, that there was no one there to look after her, to ask her about her day or see to her care. He’d never thought much of being alone before, having such a large family to go home to that even when he was the only person in their house, he could still feel each and every one of them surrounding him in echoes and whispers. Angela didn’t have that, he thought as he gently slipped his hand from hers, downshifting as he pulled into her driveway and turned off the engine.

She was alone. Painfully—undeniably—alone. If there was a sound she didn’t recognize—a tree branch scratching against a window, or pinecones getting knocked against her front door or the sides of her house—noises that were normal but still frightening to humans—who did she go to? Who was there to tell her that she would be all right? Who was there to chase away her fears and worries with a conversation or a cup of hot tea?

No one, that was who, Emmett thought as he exited the jeep and moved to open her door with his natural vampire speed. She stirred, whining softly when he unclipped the harness, lifting her from the seat into the cradle of his arms. Her hand came up to fist in his shirt as she burrowed against him, burying her face in the curve of his throat as he kicked the car door closed.

What made things infinitely worse, he thought as he narrowed his eyes, a soft growl rumbling in his chest, was that on the one day— _one_ day—he had smelled her parents in that house, Angela had been sick. And if that wasn’t bad enough already, to learn that not only had they already been gone long enough that their scents were beginning to fade, but that the reason Angela was sick was _because_ of them. He wanted to turn right around and leave this place behind, take her back to his house—to his home—where she wouldn’t be alone, where she would know what it was like to have a family surrounding her, to have someone there even when the only thing she wanted was to not be alone.

But he couldn’t, Emmett thought as he closed his eyes, at least not yet. He held Angela closer as he stepped up to her house, his brow furrowing as he remembered leaving Angela’s keys with Alice. If his sister were here, she would have opened the door before he’d even turned off the jeep, but the house was empty, no presence waiting for him inside.

_“Don’t you dare!”_

Emmett laughed silently at Alice’s disembodied voice and shook his head as he turned away from the door, watching as Carlisle’s car came into view around the bend in the road. There was no mistaking the meaning of her command, she had seen his decision to simply the kick open the door, and she did not approve. He rolled his eyes when Carlisle’s Mercedes raced into the driveway next to his jeep, stopping fast enough that bits of gravel were tossed into the air by the tires. Alice was out of the car and by his side before Jasper had even turned off the engine, her reproachful gaze holding his for a moment before she shook her head and turned to the door.

“Bring her upstairs,” Alice said as she unlocked and opened the door, standing aside to let Emmett pass. “I’ll take care of changing her into something more comfortable to sleep in and you can help Jasper.”

“Help Jasper?” he repeated with a frown, looking back at her from where he stood in the middle of the stairs, his brow furrowed. “Help him with what?”

“The kitchen,” Jasper said, a dark edge to his tone, as he stepped inside, multiple cloth bags from the grocery store hanging from his arms.

Jasper was angry? Emmett frowned as he stared after the man, watching him disappear into the kitchen before he shook his head and continued up the stairs carrying Angela into her bedroom. Alice rushed him out a moment later, taking his place with Angela beside the bed as he stepped into the hall, pulling the door closed after him.

It didn’t sit well with him. He could count on one hand the number of times he’d ever seen or heard Jasper upset. Being an empath, having the power to not only feel, but control emotions, it meant that Jasper had to always be in control of his own just to maintain enough separation to know which emotions were his own, and which came from those around him. Jasper had told Emmett that himself once, decades ago. To see him as he was now—furrowed brow, clenched jaw, stiff posture—to hear the barely audible growl rumble every now and then, spoke to a level of anger that was nearly out of his brother’s control.

“What is all this?” Emmett asked as he stepped into the kitchen, staring at the cloth bags only to turn, watching as Jasper brought in the last six bags.

Jasper turned his head, staring at him silently for a moment, his eyes narrowed in silent rage before he closed his eyes and visibly pushed back his emotions. He opened his eyes a moment later, meeting Emmett’s gaze before carrying the bags he held to the counter.

“Alice asked me to stay behind while she went to Carlisle,” Jasper told him. “She said there was something wrong with the house but she couldn’t see what it was.”

Emmett frowned when he saw Jasper’s anger resurface, felt the echo of it, and realized his brother was unintentionally projecting his own emotions. “And this?” Emmett asked as he nodded at the bags.

Jasper stilled for a moment before turning back to look at Emmett. “There wasn’t a thing in the fridge aside from a small bag of salad greens and bottles of water. Every _single_ one of them had their seals broken and they all had the same strange smell as the bottle that Alice had and the one from Angela’s room,” he said before turning back to the bag in front of him nearest the fridge. “There wasn’t anything in the freezer, nothing in the cupboards or pantry.” He looked back at Emmett. “I mean _nothing._ No baking supplies, no spices, no boxed foods, not even a package of crackers.”

“ _What?_ ” Emmett stared at him, his brow furrowed, his eyes narrowed.

“That wasn’t even the worst of it,” Jasper said as he nodded to the bag on the counter beside him.

Emmett moved to the bag, taking out the packages of tofu, produce bags full of vegetables and fruits, onions, peppers and potatoes. There were a variety of squashes as well, and he narrowed his eyes as he handed the things to Jasper to put in the fridge.

“No meat?” he asked as he tossed the empty cloth bag onto the small round table sitting against the wall in what amounted to a dining room.

“She wouldn’t eat it,” Jasper said with a frown. “Alice kept making decisions and watching her visions as we shopped. She said that Angela wanted the meat, but that she wouldn’t eat it,” he said with confusion.

Emmett stared at him silently before taking the bags of dry goods and moving to the counter beside the pantry. He could still feel Jasper’s tension in the air, wondering—not for the first time—if he was unintentionally projecting his own emotions. Flour, sugar, spices, dried herbs, boxes of noodles and jars of various sauces were stacked on the shelves in no time at all. Emmett chuckled as he came to the last of the bags, shaking his head in amusement as he took out a package of double-stuffed Oreos. Angela never had more than two at a time, but she always ate them slowly, savoring them, and Alice had noticed.

“The water in here was shut off,” Jasper said, his tone clipped, as Emmett set aside his empty bags and turned to face him. He had to wonder if his brother was having to constantly fight for control, the sound of his voice speaking to his anger. “This is an older house,” Jasper continued as he turned to face Emmett. “The shut off valve was under a false panel, in the floor under the sink. I had to move a few things just to get to it. I doubt Angela even knew where it was.”

The more he learned, the more Angela’s behaviors began make sense, and the angrier he got. All the times when she had offered him a snack or to share a meal, the times she had offered him a drink—he had always politely declined—and she had never questioned him. Never once asked him why or bothered him about it. He had always believed that she had simply accepted him at face value—and maybe that had been part of it—but the larger part, he realized, was that she would give anything to not be alone.

The times he had seen her fist her hand by her side during a loud clap of thunder or when the wind knocked something against her house as though she were doing her damnedest not to make a sound, not to show she was scared. He hadn’t hesitated to wrap her in his arms any of those times—and Angela? She’d clung to him every time as though she thought he would keep the monsters away. Each and every time he held her, he had felt her fear fall away, her muscles losing their tension as she’d relaxed in his arms. He hadn’t put the pieces together right away, but as soon as he’d realized that he made her feel safe—that she normally _didn’t_ feel safe—he hadn’t hesitated to spend more of his time with her.

He closed his eyes as he fought against the desire to break something. The times he had heard her heartbeat pickup speed, thinking she was only nervous, before he’d learned that she was actually afraid—scared of things he couldn’t see. How many times had he watched her fill her electric tea kettle to make a cup of coffee or tea that she forgot about minutes later, just so that she had something else to focus on, something to keep her hands busy? Emmett stilled, his eyes snapping open as he stared at the counter between the fridge and sink.

“What is it?” Jasper asked when Emmett turned, opening one cabinet after another. “Emmett?”

“She had a French Press,” Emmett said as he shut the last cupboard door, and turned to Jasper, the muscle in his jaw ticking as he narrowed his eyes. “She had a French Press, a little stoneware jar full of loose leaf tea leaves. There was an electric tea pot, a coffee grinder, and container of coffee beans that used to sit on that counter,” he said as he nodded to the counter between the fridge and the sink. “They were there three days ago and every single one of those things is gone now. They’re not tucked in a cupboard, they’re not in her pantry.”

Jasper’s eyes widened as he growled. “They were thrown out,” he said with authority, and Emmett nodded. “They made sure she had _nothing_ to drink except the water they poisoned.”

“Emmett,” Alice called to him as she stepped into the kitchen. “She’s changed and tucked into bed. I added another blanket, she was shivering pretty badly,” she told him, nodding back over her shoulder toward the stairs. “She was still pretty out of it. I don’t think she knew where she was or what was going on.” Her expression softened, a bittersweet grin tugging at her lips. “She wouldn’t give up your coat.”

Emmett nodded as his mouth turned up in a lopsided grin. “It makes her feel safe,” he acknowledged. “Half pint can keep it, I don’t mind.”

“We were here for almost a year before Bella came to Forks,” Alice said, her brows furrowed in confusion. “How did we never notice Angela before?”

“Half pint fades into the background, like a ghost,” Emmett replied. “I don’t think she ever felt comfortable with anyone until Bella started talking to her, she was always alone before that. The same crowd that’s around her now,” he said with an arch of his brow, “they barely ever talked to her before Bella appeared.”

Alice turned away with a shake of her head as her eyes lost focus, her brow furrowed. “What are you thinking, Alice?” Jasper asked as he stepped toward her, wrapping her in his arms as Emmett put the last of the cold and frozen things away.

“I don’t like her being here,” she said, shaking her head as she glanced back to the open doorway. “I opened the door of her parents’ room. Even in there, their scents are faded. After everything today—after seeing her, after _knowing_ that her parents did this to her and then just _left_. . . “

“What about that girl’s weekend you’ve been talking about wanting to have with Bella? Have you thought of inviting Angela to it?” Emmett asked as he turned away from the fridge, gathering the empty bags together as he looked at Alice. “Have you even set a date yet?”

“The first weekend of Spring Break,” Alice said without looking up from Jasper’s shoulder. “I do need to go shopping for it though. Why is her future so difficult to see?”

“Is she able to block you?” Jasper asked, rubbing her back.

“No,” Alice looked up. “There are flashes of things, but they aren’t coming together enough to make any kind of sense. And the more I look for her directly, the more it feels like there’s this wall in the way.” She looked at Emmett. “Carlisle’s going to call you around midnight when he gets done at the hospital. There’s a bag of oyster crackers and a bottle of ginger ale on the table next to her bed. You need to get her to eat and drink a little bit.”

“I thought you were staying here too,” he said with a frown.

“She’ll respond far better to you than she will to me. I’ll be here mostly to help her change and bathe when she wants to. Other than that, she’s all yours,” Alice said with a small grin, “Big brother.”  _  
_

“Thanks, Ali,” Emmett said, and walked his siblings out the front door. “I’ll take care of her. I’ll call you in the morning.”

“Please,” Jasper teased with a grin. “She’ll be here before you can even dial.”

Emmett chuckled as he nodded, watching Jasper and Alice move to the car and pull out of the drive. He could see each individual movement and step, but he knew that if Angela had been watching, it would have appeared to her that his siblings had simply been standing at the door one second and in the car the next. He wanted to tell her about them, wanted to bring her into their family, but at the same time, he knew that doing so could put them all in danger. He closed the door, staring at the dark wood for a moment longer before turning away.

“Hey,” he called out, moving at full speed to Angela’s side when he caught sight of her at the top of the stairs. She barely blinked, didn’t register his presence at all. “Half pint, what are you doing up?” he asked as he wrapped his arms around her, holding her against his side as he walked slowly with her.

“School,” she mumbled.

“No school,” Emmett denied her, helping her back down the hall toward her bedroom. “Did you need a hu—the bathroom?” he asked.

She turned her head to look up at him, her movements painfully slow. Her brow furrowed as she stared at him, confused by his presence, and Emmett frowned, cupping her cheek in his hand as he stared into her eyes. Not once had he ever envied Edward’s ability to hear people’s thoughts, but he wished for it now, if only to understand what Angela was thinking.

“She doesn’t think you’re real.” Emmett turned his head, staring at the door and waiting as Edward opened it a moment later to step into the house. “Bella’s sleeping, I came to check on her,” he said as he nodded to Angela. “I don’t think she’s really aware of what’s going on, her thoughts are too broken.”

Emmett nodded as he lifted Angela into his arms, cradling her against his chest. “It’s only Tuesday,” he said as Edward appeared behind him, following him into Angela’s room.

“I know,” Edward replied as Emmett lowered Angela to the bed and laid down beside her. “That’s what I came to tell you,” he said, a lopsided grin curling his lips as he watched Angela curl against Emmett’s side, throwing her arm over his stomach before falling asleep once more. “She may not realize you’re actually there with her, but she’s not going to give you up, either. Your name still tumbles through her mind with the word ‘safe’.”

“It took me awhile to realize that she isn’t so much shy—she is—but . . . she’s scared. She’s always alone here. Storms, strange sounds, things she catches out of the corner of her eye, there’s never been anyone here to let her know that she’s okay, that she’s safe,” Emmett told him, his brow furrowing as he looked down at Angela.

“Not until you,” Edward agreed with a nod. “All of the times Rosalie’s come to her, she’s made certain Angela was asleep first?”

Emmett nodded, confirming the thoughts Edward had read from him. “She’s confused about it all,” he said, and looked down at Angela. He knew he didn’t have to speak out loud, but he also knew Angela was calmer, slept deeper when she heard his voice. “I don’t think she knows how to talk to Angela when she’s awake.” Emmett frowned as he blinked, turning his gaze back to meet Edward’s. “What did you come to tell me?”

“Carlisle,” Edward said with a nod. “He called Angela in for the rest of the week. It doesn’t matter what the school nurse or anyone else says. Carlisle’s words hold a lot of weight in this town. No one questioned him, or argued against it.”

“Good,” Emmett said, his tone stiff and dark. “What?”

“You keep thinking that you want to tell her about us,” Edward said. “But you won’t.”

“Not really my call to make,” he replied. “She’d be okay with it, I have no doubt about that, but she’s not my mate like Bella is for you. Decision like this isn’t up to me. That’s up to Carlisle.”

Edward nodded as he moved closer to the bed, his eyes trained on Angela. “I’m sure the others will be by in their own time,” he said as he reached out to touch the sleeping girl. “Carlisle called you and Rosalie in for the rest of the week, too. Alice told him to let Rosalie help with her instead. Both Alice and Esme are blocking me in regards to their thoughts on Rosalie right now, but they seem to know something no one else does.”

Emmett chuckled. “Girl-speak,” he said with a laugh. “Least, that’s what half pint calls it.” He was quiet for a moment before he looked back up at Edward, watching as his brother’s expression darkened before he shook his head. “No, you’re not going to tell me, or no, Rosalie took care of it?”

“Rosalie is biding her time,” Edward said. “She doesn’t intend to confront Lauren about it now. She wants to wait, to see if she does it again, or if there’s some ulterior motive that girl has in the works.”

He frowned as he nodded. “And Alice?”

“Alice is . . . Alice,” he answered, his brows lifting and falling in a shrug. “Whatever she plans to do,” he began, falling silent when Emmett smiled.

“You know it will be fabulous,” he finished, laughing quietly as he turned his head to look down at the girl sleeping next to him. “Why did they do this to her?”

Edward shook his head when Emmett looked up to meet his gaze. “I don’t know. We may never know.” He looked toward the window, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Rosalie will be here soon. She’s on the edges of my range,” he said as he looked back at Emmett. “I will leave Angela’s care to the both of you.”

He was gone in the next instant. Both Edward and Emmett knew that Rosalie was still too uncertain, too confused, by her own thoughts and emotions to allow anyone but Emmett to see her with Angela in moments like this. She may never be comfortable letting anyone else see her with Angela, and Emmett knew that as well. But for now, he thought as he turned his gaze across the room, watching as Rosalie slipped in through the open window, it was enough that she was here.

“How is she?” Rosalie asked as she stepped across the room.

“Sleeping off and on,” Emmett replied as Rosalie sat next to him on the bed. “Where did you go?”

Rosalie pressed her lips together as she released a heavy breath through her nose. “Hunting,” she said simply. “I was too aggravated to be still. Caught a buck,” she said with a shrug. Her brow furrowed as her gaze fell away from Emmett’s and he followed her line of sight to the sleeping human. “Angela?”

“I haven’t given her anything yet,” he said, nodding to the small bottle of ginger ale and bag of crackers on the bedside table.

Rosalie nodded as she stood and moved toward the bookshelf. “I finished the story I had been reading to her. I haven’t started anything new yet.” 

Angela stirred against Emmett, curling tighter against him as she pulled in on herself, wrapping her arms around her stomach as she groaned and whimpered. Emmett spoke to her softly as Rosalie appeared by his side, meeting his gaze before reaching out for Angela. He watched as Rosalie helped Angela from the bed, holding her against her side as she helped the girl walk out of the room. It was only a moment later that he heard the sound of retching, and closed his eyes as he sat up and reached for his phone.

“Emmett,” Carlisle greeted as he answered his call. “How is she?”

“Not well,” Emmett replied, turning to sit on the side of the bed as he looked toward the open door. “She’s still throwing up. Rosalie’s with her right now, but. . . “ He shook his head as he clenched his jaw. “Twenty minutes at a time,” he said with a sigh. “That’s the longest I’ve been able to get her to sleep. She can’t keep going on like this.”

“Has she had anything else to eat or drink?” Carlisle asked.

Emmett bowed his head when he heard the water for the bath turn on, nodding to himself when Rosalie told him she would be helping Angela take a bath. It was a comfort sometimes, knowing that their senses were sharp enough that Rosalie didn’t need to speak any louder than a normal talking voice for him to hear her and she didn’t have to leave Angela’s side, either.

“I haven’t been willing to try yet,” he admitted. “I just wanted her to get some sleep.”

“You can try an abdominal massage,” Carlisle suggested. “Soft slow circles over her stomach, a gentle massage to try to ease her stomach cramps. Keep any liquids you give her at room temperature. Don’t give her anything more substantial than the crackers until she’s able to keep things down. Anything more will be too much for her system.”

“Did Alice--?” Emmett trailed off and heaved a sigh.

“She stopped by my office again, yes,” Carlisle replied. He was silent for a long moment. “It isn’t often that Alice is angered to this extent. She and Esme went back to the school together, she didn’t say why and I have to admit, at that moment, I didn’t really want to know.”

Emmett nodded as he stood from the bed. “Alice probably told her about old Nurse Wilder at the school. She was not kind to Angela.”

Carlisle’s silence was answer enough, Emmett thought as he looked back toward the bed, his back to the window. He heard the sound of a faint knock, waited as he listened to Carlisle talk to the nurse that had walked into his office.

“You’re going to Seattle?” Emmett asked a few minutes later.

“No,” Carlisle replied, his tone an odd mix of amusement and annoyance. “Just the patient. Every now and again there is that one impatient person who decides to take matters into their own hands and only makes things worse.” He released a heavy sigh. “I’ll be leaving the office within the next hour or so. I’ll stop by to check on Angela later tonight. Try to get her to sleep.”

“We’ll take care of her,” Emmett assured him. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

Emmett disconnected the call a few moments later, looking up when Rosalie appeared in the doorway. “She’s relaxing right now,” she told him as she stepped toward the dresser to gather clothes. “The bath is the only thing that seems to be calming her nausea at the moment. Ginger ale,” she requested, accepting the bottle with a nod when Emmett handed it to her. “She’ll be okay. She’s stronger than you think.”

Emmett narrowed his eyes as he studied her, blinking a moment later as he pulled back. “Like you were,” he said, referring to her human years.

The edge of Rosalie’s mouth pulled up in a fleeting expression before she turned and left the room. The few things she had told him about her human years, before Royce, had been enough to let him know that while she might always claim to have had a perfect human life, there had been a price to be paid for it. Constant lessons on manners and decorum, being taught to read and recite lines of poetry or passages of books. Where most would imagine the fantasy of being raised like a princess, Rosalie had lived the reality of it.

There were never any harsh punishments, no physical harm or anything of that nature, but neither had there been very much warmth. She had told him about learning to sew and read, to hem dresses and copy poetry and prose from books onto pieces of parchment in order to practice her penmanship. In all things, she had been trained to be silent, to play to her beauty—something her parents celebrated at every turn. Her beauty had caught Royce’s attention—a man still rich in a time when even the wealthy had been turned into instant paupers—and it was that same beauty that had cost her everything.

She had never said it in so many words, but there were moments he wondered if she realized how many times he would find her looking at herself in the mirror as she applied her makeup or did her hair, staring at her own reflection with such aching disdain. She hated herself, but not for the reasons she professed. Her immortality had frozen her at the age she was turned, but it had also frozen in her in the absolute worst moment of her human life—something the others had never really understood. How could they?

Edward had been dying of Spanish influenza, his weakened body giving out before he had been reborn as something infinitely stronger. He had lost his mortal mother, but he had adjusted. Esme? She had taken her own life in a moment of despair and woken in the arms of the man she had fallen in love with as a teenager. Even he, Emmett thought, he’d been dying from a bear attack when Rosalie had found him. It was why he liked hunting bears as much as he did. But Rosalie?

She had been attacked—raped and beaten—by her human fiancée and his friends. She knew her attackers, knew the men and their families. Her bones had been broken, her dignity taken, her trust violated by the one person who was supposed to protect her. For so many humans, that kind of trauma never went away. For one of their kind? Those memories would forever be a part of her.

And all those times that Edward thought Rosalie simply laid down and closed her eyes to mock being asleep as though she were pretending to be human? He knew different. She had learned early on how to block Edward, he wasn’t sure if someone else told her how to do so or if she figured it out on her own. In those moments of stillness, Rosalie was battling with herself, trying to push away the memories that screamed to life in her mind—the last hours of her human life before Carlisle had found her. It happened enough as it was after he had been changed, after he and Rosalie were wed, that it left him wondering how much worse it had been before she’d found him.

Had Carlisle or Edward or Esme ever realized that she wasn’t pretending to be asleep, that she was—in fact—having a panic attack, instead? Had any of them ever given any thought to how their perfect memories—their vampire brains that recalled everything in vivid detail—was, at times, torture for Rosalie?

Emmett closed his eyes as he pushed the thoughts away and bowed his head. Dwelling on those thoughts wouldn’t do anyone any good. There were times he envied Alice, her inability to remember her human years. Whatever had happened to her in the asylum was enough that her human brain had hidden from the reality of it enough to erase the memories of any life she may have had before she was a vampire. He wondered how much it would change her personality if she held the memories of her human life and the hours before she died? Would she still be as carefree and happy?

“It’s a good thing vampires don’t go gray,” Rosalie teased.

Emmett looked up to meet her gaze, moving to her side to scoop up Angela in his arms and carry her to the bed. She wasn’t truly awake, her eyes barely open as she looked up at him. He offered her a lopsided grin as he sat down on the bed next to her, turned to lie back on the pillows and wrapped his arm around her back when she curled into his side, pillowing her head on his chest.

“Any requests, half pint?” Emmett asked, meeting her blurry gaze when she turned her head to look up at him.

“Are you really here?” Angela asked softly, her words slurred.

“I am,” he confirmed as he toyed with her damp hair. “So, is Rosalie. Edward doesn’t think you’ll remember any of this. He thinks it’ll all just be a dream for you.”

“Dream? _Fevre Dream_ ,” Angela mumbled, her brow furrowed in confusion as her eyes fell closed.

Rosalie chuckled as she handed Emmett the book. “Well, what do you know,” she teased an affectionate grin. “A vampire novel.”

 

 


	5. Chapter 4 "Peaceful Stillness"

A.N.: The Twilight Saga, both the books and movies, and all recognizable characters are the sole property of Stephanie Meyer. While I am borrowing the characters for a little while, this story is my own. No copyright infringement is intended. This story is canon AU, the characters and, a few moments in the stories, are a blend between the books and movies. Angela Weber, for instance, is the movie version, and not the book’s original description. Though this story will, at times, show all the relationships both familial and romantic between the couples, the main focus is on Angela Weber and how she becomes a member of the Cullen family.

Summary: Emmett had never thought much of Angela Weber until he was paired with her for a history assignment in class. She had always been just another one of Bella’s friends, someone whom he looked out for because Bella did. But then one day he learned that the girl who always seemed so silent was the one person who was screaming the loudest, and what kind of protector would he be to ignore the cries of an innocent in pain?

 

 

Roses in Winter

By WhisperingWolf

**_Book One: Shattering Glass_ **

Chapter 4

_Peaceful Stillness_

 

 

Blue-gray shadows spilled over the desk from the bay window behind him, the sky darkening as a low growl of thunder rumbled through the clouds. The sunlight slowly faded away, hidden behind rainclouds as the room around him darkened. Carlisle breathed in deeply as he lowered the phone from his ear, setting the silent device on the desk beside him and reached for his journal, unwrapping the length of leather from around the handstitched buffalo skin book, he opened it to the entry he’d been making throughout the day.

He didn’t bother reaching for the lamp. He’d never needed much light to work by, and now was no different. Even for the cloud cover that hid the sun from view, there was still more than enough light for his vampire eyes. Carlisle released a soft breath of amusement as he read through what he had written before, shaking his head as he reached for his pen. He was calmer now, perhaps so only because he knew the source of his irritability, but it didn’t lessen the anger that burned through him just below the surface or the aching pain of the bitter injustice he felt.

Taking in a calming breath as he brought the tip of the pen to the page, he closed his eyes, exhaling slowly, before looking down at his journal and began to write.

_It has been a harrowing day, to say the least, but I finally understand the emotions I had no explanation for earlier. Alice came by my office; the school day wasn’t officially over yet when she arrived. Her anger palpable. I have seen her frustrated, I have seen her mourn and I have seen her afraid, but very rare is it that I have ever seen her angered to the extent that she was just a few hours ago. Enraged, might be a better description. It was then she told me that I was feeling the same impatience and irritation that all of my children were today, and revealed that Angela is sick._

_I didn’t know what to think when she tossed the bottle of water at me, telling me that it was the water that was making Angela sick. It didn’t make any sense. Not long after, Edward and Emmett brought Angela here, to my office at the hospital. It was with great care that I kept calm upon seeing her, part of me wishing to take her from my son’s arms if only to ensure her safety myself. She was dressed in Emmett’s coat and wrapped in a blanket, but still she shivered. I could feel the trembling of her muscles through the blanket._

_To think of how small she looked to me just a few nights ago when I found her sleeping here in the hospital—she looked disturbingly fragile to me today. She couldn’t form the words to speak, her body too exhausted and weak for it to listen to her commands. Edward translated her thoughts—oftentimes shaking his head when he couldn’t make sense of them—but what he could read? I have never wanted so much to protect someone as I did her in that moment._

_The second I made the decision to test the water, both Alice and Edward growled as though defending against a threat. Alice had seen the test results and Edward had seen her vision. The water Angela had, the water she had been given, all of it was laced with ipecac. It wouldn’t take much at all to cause the condition that she was in, barely three milliliters per twelve-ounce bottle. Less than a teaspoon._

_One vial would have been more than enough to do this, and to have the skill to know how much to use without it being so much that it would poison her or cause an overdose. . . Whoever did this to Angela, researched it beforehand. This was a practiced abuse—rehearsed to perfection. I didn’t realize I had focused on that fact until Edward bid me to stop, his voice strained enough that I knew he was barely in control._

_What made it all so much worse. . . Emmett revealed that—though faded—today was the only occurrence in all the times he’s been to Angela’s house that he smelled any scents different from her own. His assertions that her parents had returned the night before, his absolute certainty that they were the only ones who could do such a thing to her. . . I don’t want to believe him, but how can I not in the face of all the evidence before me?_

_It is strange to realize how unsettled I felt when I sat beside her. I still feel the same need to protect her now as I did then, but it doesn’t feel as . . . maddening as it did when she was here. I believe that what I felt is simply the desire of a father to protect his children, regardless of the fact that she is not mine, and may never be mine. It is still difficult for me to understand why someone would drug their own child in such a manner, or keep them awake all night as her fragmented thoughts told Edward they had. Whatever it takes, I will protect her, for I fear I will be driven insane if I do not._

Carlisle closed his eyes as he took in a deep breath, holding the air in his lungs before blinking and releasing it a few moments later. Capping his pen, he set it down inside the trench between the pages of the journal and stood from his desk. He didn’t need to breathe—biologically—but there were times when he found the absence of scent to be uncomfortable. The taste on the air of the sun as it warmed the linens left exposed by an open window, or the deep earth of the forest, the scents of so many different trees, dying leaves and dark damp soil, flower petals fallen to the ground only to be stirred into the air once more by a gentle breeze.

The soft dusty aroma of the texts lining the walls around him now, the mildew that spoke of the age of the volumes, the dark tangy scent of wood varnish and the sweet metallic scent of a myriad of cleaners all blending together and yet easily pulled apart. He could identify each scent, no matter how minute, and while at times it became overwhelming, more often than not he found it be a comfort. He closed his eyes as he covered his face with his hands, releasing another deep exhalation before turning to face the window. The pine trees and aspen were swaying in the wind, their needles and leaves trembling as the rain struck them.

Carlisle stared past the trees, taking everything in as he watched the rain fall, only to focus immediately on the glass when he heard the soft pings. It was cold enough outside that it was hailing now. The pieces of ice weren’t very big, perhaps only the size of the tip of a pin. Humans wouldn’t be able to tell them apart from the raindrops, but his enhanced vision allowed him to see every detail as the crystals of ice flew through the air only to shatter apart when they impacted the window pane.

His lips twitched as he bowed his head, slipping his hands into his pockets as he nodded to himself and looked back out at the forest surrounding the edges of the hospital grounds. He could still remember that day back in 1965. He and his family had been on the outskirts of Chicago at that time, Jasper still struggling against his desire for human blood but doing an admirable job of controlling his thirst. It was the first time Carlisle had ever seen Emmett open up to anyone that wasn’t of his own family, the first time the guardian of their coven had shown an interest in a human.

_“You seem different,” Carlisle said as he stepped outside, leaning back against the railing of the front porch as he studied Emmett. “Distracted.”_

_“Rosalie told you?” Emmett asked as he met Carlisle’s gaze. “About Sean?”_

_Carlisle shook his head. “No,” he denied. “Alice did.”_

_Emmett narrowed his eyes, nodding once before turning away. He wasn’t upset, but he wasn’t quite settled either, Carlisle thought as he studied his son. More often of late, he had found Jasper studying Emmett from a distance, his expression tense, as though the empathic vampire was waiting for Emmett to do something. Alice had been hiding her visions from Edward, something that he knew bothered his telepathic son, but there was something more—something about the way each of his family members acted—that all led back to Emmett._

_“Walk with me?” Emmett asked, looking back at the house behind them, his expression making it clear he wanted privacy._

_“Of course,” Carlisle returned._

_The silence between them stretched on for several minutes as they walked, Emmett leading them down a gentle path into the woods. They followed a stream that ran behind the house and out to the Chicago River until their house was so far away it could no longer be seen. Emmett stilled, looking around before nodding to himself and scaling an ancient water oak. Carlisle followed after him, joining his son on the thick branch, and turned to sit with his back against the trunk, watching as Emmett hopped down to the branch below and began to pace._

_“He’s always in pain,” Emmett said. Carlisle frowned as he turned his head, meeting his son’s gaze. “He won’t ever change in the locker rooms for gym—not if anyone is in there with him. It’s hard for him to move in certain ways. Things that should be simple—lifting a backpack, sitting down at a desk, standing up—I’ve seen him lose his balance, I’ve seen him have to stop and hold his breath, like he’s fighting not to scream.”_

_“Sean?” Carlisle asked, his frown deepening when Emmett nodded. “Have you tried talking with him?”_

_Emmett’s expression grew fierce. “Several times, he won’t say anything. He’s afraid to be touched, but he doesn’t like being alone. It feels like . . . “_

_“Like what?” Carlisle asked when his son remained silent._

_“It feels like he’s crying out to be protected, to be_ safe _—just for a few minutes. I don’t have Jasper’s talent for reading and controlling emotions, I can’t read minds like Edward can, but I swear to you, Carlisle . . . I can_ feel _it! I can_ feel _his desperation—the need he has to be protected, and it’s eating away at me every time I’m near him.”_

_“Perhaps it’s part of you, why you are such a good protector to our family,” Carlisle theorized, and shook his head as he released a sigh. “Do you know what’s causing his pain?”_

_Emmett shook his head. “I think Edward does, but he won’t say anything. He just stares at Sean, so does Alice. It freaks him out,” he said, heaving a sigh as he stopped pacing and sat down on the branch. “It feels like time is running out.” He shook his head. “I don’t like it, Carlisle. I don’t like it at all.”_

_“Jasper is still getting used to being around humans without trying to feed on them, but he’s doing remarkably better,” Carlisle said, meeting Emmett’s confused frown when his son looked up at him. “Bring Sean home with you tomorrow. I’ll talk with him, and perhaps with Jasper’s help, he’ll allow me to examine him.”_

_“Yeah?” Emmett asked, his eyes widening as the severity of his concern fell away, a light of hope entering his gold eyes. “I’ll do that.”_

Emmett had brought Sean home that very next day, but by that time it had already been too late. Sean believed he had the flu, tried to tell everyone that there was nothing to worry about, but it hadn’t been stomach contents the boy was vomiting. Instead, he’d been throwing up blood—clear evidence of internal bleeding. He’d passed out a few moments after arriving home with Emmett, and they had all listened as his heart had stopped beating. There was nothing any of them could have done.

The hardest part of it all had been the moment Carlisle had attempted CPR only to freeze in the middle of performing the first chest compression when he had felt the bones beneath his hands shift. He hadn’t hesitated to rip open the boy’s shirt then, disbelief holding him immobile when the bruising had been revealed. Some of the marks were yellowed—almost healed—beneath the edges of darker bruises, red and blue and purple overlaying each other, the most recent of the bruises almost black.

Emmett had snarled as he’d raced from the house, Jasper and Edward running after him, Rosalie following suit. Carlisle hadn’t had to ask Alice to know where Emmett was going. It was clear that Sean’s father had been the target of his rage. Carlisle had never met the man, but Alice had. In the end, he recalled, the only thing that had stopped Emmett from killing Sean’s father had been Rosalie’s steadying hand. They’d been forced to move a few days later, the incident making it dangerous for them to stay.

“The last time I found you this deep in thought, you were chasing ghosts.”

Carlisle smiled as he turned away from the window, meeting Esme’s gaze as she stepped closer to him. He hadn’t heard her enter, hadn’t sensed her approach, his thoughts too deep to allow anything else in. He blinked as his gaze fell to the book in her hands, the well-worn paperback novel soothing in its familiarity.

“Black Beauty?” he asked, a teasing note in his voice as he smiled, welcoming her approach with a kiss.

“Rosalie said she likes classics,” Esme said with a grin.

“Angela,” Carlisle said with a nod, the curve of Esme’s lips affirming his answer.

“You were off an hour ago,” she told him. “I thought I’d come check on you when I didn’t see you respond to Emmett’s message.”

Carlisle frowned. “His message?” he repeated with confusion.

“Check your phone.”

Carlisle frowned in question, tipping his head as he silently asked her to tell him what he would find, but she shook her head. The love she felt was written in the softness of her eyes, the curve of her lips. Whatever message Emmett had sent, Carlisle thought as he reached for his phone, he hadn’t seen that depth of affection on Esme’s face since the day Edward brought Bella home. She nodded when he looked at her, his phone in his hand, and he chuckled as he opened the waiting message.

Carlisle blinked, his lips parting as a smile curved his mouth up at the corners. There hadn’t been any words, no statement or witty comment to accompany the image his son had sent to both him and Esme. Though truth be told, no words were needed. Carlisle tapped on the image, his eyes softening as the picture filled the screen of his phone.

Rosalie was lying back on Angela’s bed, her head on the pillow with her blonde hair fanned out around her. Angela lay sleeping next to her, tucked against her side with her cheek pillowed on Rosalie’s shoulder, their daughter’s arm wrapped around the human girl’s back, a book held open between her hands. Rosalie’s mouth was open—evidence of her reading aloud to Angela—her gaze shifted to the side as she looked down on the girl sleeping in her arms.

“I called Emmett,” Esme said softly, meeting Carlisle’s gaze when he looked up from his phone. “He said that he wanted us to see what he sees, what Rosalie hides from everyone else.”

“Does Angela know they’re with her?” Carlisle asked as he wrapped his arm around Esme’s shoulders, holding her against his side as she chuckled.

“No,” she replied with a grin. “He said that she hasn’t been awake very long, or been coherent when she is. But she will only sleep deeply when she is held by one of them—one of us—and if whoever is holding her stops reading or speaking, she’ll rouse slightly until whomever is with her starts to read or speak again. She is comforted by us, by our presence, by our voices. Emmett still doesn’t think she’d know what to do if we were so close to her while she was awake. He says she’s skittish.”

“And Rosalie?” Carlisle asked, turning his eyes back to the device in his hands and the image he’d already saved to his camera roll.

“Isn’t obvious?”

 

**~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~**

**  
**

_February 25, 2009_

_Esme and I came to Angela’s house tonight to check on her. Esme, of course, brought a book with her as she did last night, delighting in the knowledge that Angela takes comfort from being held and read to while she sleeps. Rosalie and Emmett have been with her throughout the day and needed relief for a few hours. I believe they’ve gone hunting. Esme is the one lying with Angela now, reading ‘Emma’ to her._

_Her nausea seems to have passed, for the most part. She is sleeping deeper and longer. Her heartbeat is also steadier, and though I am still troubled by all that has happened, I am no longer as tense as I was. Angela woke a few minutes ago, her mind still clouded by exhaustion, and asked for something to drink. I was quite pleased that she was able to drink more than a few ounces of the ginger ale without it upsetting her stomach._

_On some level, she knows that she isn’t alone, but I must admit I agree with Edward. I sincerely doubt she will remember any of this._

Carlisle looked up from the journal balanced on his knee, his pen poised above the page, as he turned his attention toward the open bedroom door. He knew he wasn’t mistaken, the sound of the front door opening and closing had been soft, but undeniable. Tucking the pen in between the pages, he closed the book, setting it aside on the bedside table as he stood from the chair. He leaned over the bed, tucking Angela’s hair back behind her ear as she slept in Esme’s arms, nodding as he smiled when Esme continued to read the book in her hands.

He lingered a moment longer before leaving the bedroom, pulling the door almost closed behind him. Emmett and Rosalie had returned, their presence filling the house as he made his way downstairs and into the kitchen. He had expected them to take their time, but he hadn’t expected to see them return with anything.

“You went shopping?” he asked with confusion as he watched Rosalie pull a French Press from its cardboard box.

“Just for a few things,” Rosalie said as she took another cardboard box from the plastic sack. “I needed to run and hunting . . . didn’t seem so important.”

“Half pint used to have these things,” Emmett said as he glanced back at Carlisle. “When Jasper and I were restocking the kitchen—”

“Restocking?” Carlisle interrupted, his brow furrowed.

“I take it Alice and Jasper didn’t tell you,” Emmett said, meeting his gaze only to nod to himself as he turned back to the task at hand. “When I took Angela out of school, before taking her to your office, Alice told Jasper that something was wrong with the house. She didn’t know what, but something was wrong with the kitchen.” He fell silent, the muscle in his jaw ticking as he frowned. “All the food was gone. Her fridge was bare except for more bottles of the same tainted waiter, her cabinets and pantry were empty. There was nothing for her to eat or drink. And the things she had on the counter,” he said, nodding to the counter between the fridge and the sink. “Her French Press, the little coffee grinder she had, the container of coffee beans, her little pot of tea, her electric tea kettle, even her little tea ball—all of it—was gone. They threw it out.”

“What?” Carlisle shook his head as he stared at his son with wide eyes, his brow furrowed in disbelief. “They intended to not simply make her ill, but starve her, as well?”

“Yeah,” Emmett returned with a nod. “The water main in here was turned off, too. Jasper said it was in the floor, under the bottom of the cabinet,” he said, nodding to the cupboard under the sink. “He didn’t think Angela would know where it was, and I doubt she would, either.”

“Rosalie.” Carlisle turned his attention to her. “You’re being rather quiet about all of this.”

“Because if it were up to me, her parents would be dead,” she replied tightly. “As it is, no one knows where they are. They’re not here, and there’s nothing to tell when—or even _if_ —they’ll be returning, either. They poisoned her, abandoned her, and tried to starve her, and it is taking every _bit_ of control I have right now to keep from hunting them down.”

Rosalie shook her head as she collapsed the cardboard boxes, tucking them in the plastic shopping bag along with the booklets and packing pieces. She moved back to the counter, turning on the hot water in the sink and began washing the French Press before handing it to Emmett to be dried. Carlisle stared in silence as he realized they were remaking the kitchen for Angela as she had left it, taking away what her parents had done and providing for her something better. Did they realize the significance of it all? Did he?

“The only thing that’s kept me here is her,” Rosalie said as she rinsed out a small earthenware jar.

“It’s not exactly the same as the one half pint had before,” Emmett said as he took the jar from Rosalie to dry it. “But it’s close enough,” he said as he set the jar on the counter.

“In that bag,” Rosalie said, nodding to the cloth bag on the opposite counter. “There’s a little shop in Chinatown in Seattle that stays open until two AM. They were the only place open that had the tea Angela drinks,” she said when Carlisle eyed the bag curiously. She fell silent with a sigh, shaking her head as she met Carlisle’s gaze. “I have never felt more enraged than I have in the past month over the things I have discovered about Angela,” she said, accepting the paper sack of loose leaf tea Emmett handed her. The sweet earthy scent of jasmine oolong filled the air as she poured the tea leaves into the jar, placing the lid on after and pushed it back to rest against the wall. “I have also never felt so at peace in the moments of stillness as I do when I’m holding her, reading to her.”

“And you?” Carlisle asked Emmett, watching as his son poured coffee beans into the clear plastic container, before adding the lid and setting the tall rectangular container on the counter beside the French Press.

“Half pint’s my sister, whether she becomes one of us or not. When we move away from Forks, when the time comes, it won’t matter. I’ll keep in touch with her. She needs me, I’m there, no questions asked,” Emmett said with an air of authority, making it clear his mind couldn’t be swayed on the matter.

Carlisle nodded. “Esme’s with her now,” he told them both. “I believe she feels much the same way you do, Emmett.” He frowned as he slipped his hands into his pockets. “Edward hasn’t said much on the matter, neither have Alice or Jasper.”

Rosalie frowned. “Jasper’s been having to hunt almost constantly,” she said. “Alice told me that the strain of the school this time is worse than anywhere else we’ve been, but in the past month alone it’s grown worse. She isn’t sure if it’s Bella or something else, but there are days that he can barely make it through the classes before he needs to leave. She’s been concerned about him.”

“Part of his strain could also be coming from Alice,” Carlisle said with a sigh. “She’s been pushing herself as hard as she can to see Angela in her visions. It’s exhausting for her—as exhausting as it can be for one of our kind,” he allowed.

_“Carlisle.”_

Carlisle looked back toward the living room at the sound of Esme’s voice, returning to her side in an instant. He nodded when Angela groaned, helping her sit up as she pressed a hand against her stomach. Her eyes were still closed, the human girl not truly awake as Esme moved from the bed, keeping Angela against her side as she helped her to the bathroom. It would still be a few hours yet before the last lingering traces of ipecac left her system.

“She’s sick again?” Rosalie asked, appearing in the open doorway, her gaze fixed down the hallway.

“Yes,” Carlisle said with a slow nod. “Esme’s with her. She’ll be all right.”

“I was lucky to get her to eat five of those things,” she said, flicking her wrist toward the bag of oyster crackers on the bedside table.

“She’s been asleep almost the entire time you were gone, and for the hour before you left,” Carlisle said as he met Rosalie’s gaze. “She’s getting better, it’s just going to take time.”

“This will all just be a nightmare for her,” Emmett said as he looked down the hall. A smile tugged at the edge of his mouth, the anger that Carlisle had seen in the set of his son’s jaw fading away in an instant. “Hey, half pint,” he greeted as he stepped toward her.

A few seconds later, Carlisle watched as Emmett stepped into the room, Angela cradled in his arms.

She blinked slowly, her brow furrowed in confusion. “You’re all here?” she asked tiredly, her head resting against Emmett’s shoulder, her eyes barely open.

“Yes,” Carlisle said as he stepped up to Emmett, reaching out to tuck Angela’s hair behind her ear. “You’ve been very sick. We’ve been taking care of you.”

He frowned when Angela pouted her gaze falling to the side as she nodded. “Knew it was a dream,” Angela mumbled, her words slurring together as she neared sleep. “Always alone.”

His heart ached for her, the complete disbelief she held that anyone would truly be there with her, that anyone would care for her. He wanted to take her from Emmett, hold her himself and comfort her. At the same time, Carlisle thought as he stepped aside, letting Emmett get closer to the bed so that he could lay her down, he wanted to hit something. Tossed aside and abandoned often enough that she lacked any faith anyone would be there for her, she lacked the ability to believe their presence to be anything more than a dream

“She told me once that not even Ben will get near her when she’s sick,” Emmett said as he stepped back to allow Esme to lie down beside Angela. The human girl curled against her immediately, draping her arm over Esme’s stomach with a tired groan. “She does the same thing to me and Rosalie,” Emmett said as he looked down on Angela, a crooked smile curling his lips as he handed the well-worn copy of _Emma_ back to Esme.

“She needs us,” Esme said softly, looking up to meet Carlisle’s gaze.

“Perhaps,” Carlisle mused with a slow nod, “we need her, as well.”

 

**~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~**

**  
**

_March 3, 2009_

_Angela returned to school yesterday. Edward told me last night that she is confused. It appears that she remembers bits and pieces of my family and myself looking after her but only in the context of dreams. Alice couldn’t see her when she watched herself and the others. It was Edward who revealed the reason why. Angela believed that she had somehow imagined it all, and that in creating such a fantasy, she was being unfair to Emmett, perhaps would even cause conflict between him and Rosalie. She made the decision to keep her distance._

_The moment Edward revealed that information, Emmett scoffed and was out of the house in the blink of an eye. Alice relaxed, Edward laughed, and Rosalie just rolled her eyes as she smiled. I didn’t have to ask; the answer was obvious. Emmett had gone to Angela._

Carlisle looked up from his journal with a sigh, only to shake his head as he brought his pen back to the page.

_Esme is upstairs right now, preparing the things she will be taking with her. Most of the restoration projects she takes on are near where we reside, but she agreed to take on a joint project with an architectural historian in Dedham, Massachusetts. The Fairbanks House—quite possibly the oldest standing timber structure in the continental United States—was damaged in a storm last month. While the damage to the house itself was minimal, those that manage the museum it has become are worried about the overall structure and the potential that the cracks and breaks it suffered may lead to a larger effect._

_Esme will be assessing the outside of the house, managing the repairs needed, while the man she is working with will be taking care to ensure that the wood used to repair the house is kept to historical standards. I will miss her while she’s gone for those three weeks. But I know that she is more than excited to return. While Alice may not be certain that she will invite Angela to the girls’ weekend over Spring Break yet, Esme seems confident that Angela will be here with us._

_As Esme likes to say: a mother always knows._

 

**~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~**

**  
**

Angela stilled as she stood in front of the kitchen sink, her hand on the faucet. She was certain she had seen something move outside. As much as she wanted to tell herself that she was just being paranoid, she couldn’t. Not this time. She glanced at the counter beside her, eyeing her cellphone, only to shake her head. Bella’s words came back to her, and maybe she had been talking about her being brave enough to make the first move with a boy, but didn’t that same thought apply here?

She stepped back from the sink, keeping her eyes trained on the window as she counted her steps and reached for the wall behind her. Angela jumped in the sudden darkness, her eyes widening as her breath caught in her throat. Her heart raced madly in her chest as she closed her eyes and swallowed back her fear. Blinking as she released the breath she’d been holding, Angela stared at the window in fear and confusion. She was certain she had seen a face staring back at her, and maybe it had been gone when she opened her eyes, but she was sure someone had been there.

“You are driving yourself crazy,” she told herself as she skipped forward, grabbing her phone off the counter and opened the camera app to turn on the flash. “Just go outside and look and prove to yourself once and for all that you’re imagining things.”

Angela shook her head as she stepped outside, leaving the back door open as she stood on the back porch. She should’ve grabbed a knife, she thought only to release a low groan. Exactly what would she have done with a knife? She knew herself well enough to know that the only one to get hurt would be her. She may not be strong enough to fight someone off, but she also wasn’t stupid enough to hand anyone a weapon to use against her, either.

“Oh, just stop it!” she snapped at herself as she moved around to stand outside the kitchen window. “See?” she told herself as she looked at the ground. “There’s nothing to—footprints? That’s impossible.”

There were footprints, yes, but only two as though a ghost had been standing outside her window and left its mark behind. Shaking her head as she growled at herself, Angela smeared her shoe through the damp soil, erasing the footprints away. A line of footprints, a _trail_ of footprints— _that_ would have made sense. But _one_ single _pair_ of footprints? It not only made zero sense to her, but she knew it would only add fuel to the fire of her growing insanity. It didn’t matter to her that the grass could easily have hidden any other footprints, what mattered was that they had been there at all.

“Now, you’re imagining footprints. It wasn’t bad enough that you thought the shadows were moving, or that you saw a face in the glass, but now you’re seeing things that aren’t there. Oh God,” she moaned as she shook her head. “I really am going insane.” She shook her head as she moved back to the kitchen door.

The water in the sink was on. Angela stared at it with wide eyes as she stood on the stoop outside the open door. She hadn’t turned on the water before backing away from the sink. Had she? Was she forgetting things she’d already done? She dashed forward, slamming the handle for the sink down, shutting off the water in an instant as though its very presence offended her. She needed to get control of herself.

“Just go for a run, it’s always calmed you in the past,” she told herself as she moved to close the kitchen door, locking it before she left the room.

She needed the exercise anyway, she reasoned. Her illness from the week before had only proven that she’d been neglectful of her condition. Running twice a week—just around the block a few times, nothing too long distance—and a little light yoga before bed on occasion. It calmed her, but more importantly, it kept the extra weight off. She knew how she looked in a mirror, knew that she appeared thin, but every time she’d neared one hundred-twenty pounds, she got sick. One hundred-seventeen was her sweet spot. A little more than the one hundred fifteen her mother had always insisted she maintain to keep from getting sick, but less than the one hundred-twenty that left her ill for days on end.

Angela jumped at the sound of a door closing, thoughts of a run for exercise forgotten. She didn’t want to be here, imagined or not, she didn’t feel safe and couldn’t stand the thought of being here alone. She swallowed back a cry of fear, biting the side of her first. She swore she’d heard a creak on the stairs. The noise hadn’t been very loud, but it had been out of place. There was no one in this house except for her, and there was no one that she was expecting, either. It wasn’t Emmett, she knew that for certain. Every time he’d been here with her, he’d always been where she could see him, and called out to her if they were in separate rooms.

“Hello?” she called out, only to cringe and squeeze her eyes closed. “Really, Angela!” she hissed at herself as she shook her head and looked across the living room from where she stood in the kitchen. “And just what the hell are you going to do if anyone answers back?”

She was being stupid, she _knew_ she was being stupid, but even still, she opened her recent call list and brought her phone to her ear as the call rang through. “Hey, Bella,” she greeted her friend. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No,” Bella answered her. “You sound out of breath. Everything okay?”

“What?” Angela blinked as she shook her head. “Yeah, I’m fine. Hey um, that test we’ve got in English . . . mind helping me study for it?”

Silence greeted her, and she prayed Bella didn’t call her on her bluff. “The test we have _tomorrow_?” Bella asked her in return.

“Uh huh,” she replied.

“Sure. Charlie’s out at the station tonight. Late shift. You’ve got a car, though, right? Or do you want me to come pick you up?”

Angela closed her eyes, tears of relief seeping between her lashes. “I’ve got a car. I can be there in about ten minutes?” she asked.

“Ugh,” Bella groaned and Angela froze. “Meet me at the diner instead,” she said, her tone distinctly uncomfortable as she heard the sound of something being thrown away. “And remind me to go shopping this weekend. I don’t know what that thing is I just threw away, but I’m pretty sure it was two steps shy from being home grown penicillin.”

“Eww,” Angela replied, laughing at the image Bella’s words conjured up. “Diner it is. I will see you soon. Thanks, Bella.”

“Anytime.”

 

**~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~**

The fridge door shut on its own behind Bella as she stared at her phone when the call ended. She frowned as she turned to meet Edward’s gaze. “That was weird.”

Edward shook his head. “What’s so weird about studying for a test?”

“Angela’s in AP English,” Bella replied, her brow arched. “I’m not. She’s in the same English class with Rosalie and Jasper, not me.”

Edward narrowed his eyes, his frown growing deeper. “You think something’s wrong?” he asked, trying to understand why she seemed so suspicious.

“I don’t know,” Bella said before blowing out a breath. She rolled her eyes as she shook her head. “It’s probably the same thing that happened a few months ago.” Edward shook his head in confusion. “Angela called me to study with her at the library after she watched a movie and spooked herself.”

“What movie?” he asked curiously, a bemused grin tilting his lips up to one side.

“When A Stranger Calls.” Bella shrugged as she stepped out of the kitchen. “The remake, not the original. Personally, the remake was a lot more intense.”

“Didn’t think you’d be a fan of horror movies,” he chuckled as he followed her out the front door.

“Oh, I’m not,” Bella laughed, her eyes wide. “It was on TV, I didn’t realize what I was watching until about an hour in and at that point, I figured I should just watch the rest. Not my best idea.”

Edward laughed as he shook his head. “Call me, when you’re ready to leave?” he asked as she locked the door. “Victoria’s still on the loose and while we haven’t seen her here in a while, I’d rather not take any chances.”

Bella nodded as she slipped behind the wheel of her truck. “Me either.”

 

**~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~**

**  
**

Carlisle looked down at the parchment lying on top of his journal. The lines of charcoal moved effortlessly on the page, flowing and blending seamlessly into the picture they created. There was no doubt in his mind that image had been created be Alice's hand, she was the only one of his family to prefer charcoal as a medium for her sketches. Esme preferred black and white photography or shaded graphite and sepia pencils, whereas Rosalie preferred pens. Jasper—in the rare moments that he did create his own art—tended to use chalk. If that hadn't been enough, he also knew that she would be the only one to have known he wanted the image lying before him to be immortalized in such a manner. An affectionate smile pulled at the corners of his lips as he stared at the picture of Angela lying in her bed, wrapped in Emmett's arms, while Esme sat on the opposite side with a book open in her hands, and he sat at the foot of her bed with his hand on the girl's ankle over the blankets.

"Thank you, Alice," Carlisle spoke aloud as he set the picture aside and opened his journal.

_March 13, 2009_

_I have noticed Rosalie’s attitude change over the passing weeks. She has never once been hesitant to vocalize her thoughts and feelings before, especially not if she is unhappy with something, but lately she has become almost withdrawn. I am uncertain why this change has taken place and even consulted Edward on the matter only to be told that she is still blocking my son’s talent. She seems a touch edgier than usual, but for her to be silent as to the reasoning is unlike her._

_At first, I thought her upset had to do with Angela, but she was very adamant that she did not have a problem with Angela at all. She still maintains that she wants Angela here, with us. I don’t know what to make of this change, and getting her to talk about it seems nearly impossible. I will think on this matter more today, but have been called in to the hospital to fill in for Dr. Richards. It is almost criminal for an obstetrician to become ill, especially when they have three women so close to their due dates._

**_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_ **

_  
_

It was nearing one in the morning when Carlisle stepped inside his home with a sigh. Shaking his head, he laughed at the memory of Carl Daniels fainting when his wife went into false labor. Tamara had simply sighed, the breath rolling in the back of her throat like a growl, and tossed her cup of ice chips on him.

_“I don’t suppose there’s anyway you can just go up there and fish him out?” she asked in reference to her unborn son._

_Carlisle chuckled. “Not without extenuating circumstances, no.”_

_She closed her eyes, her brows rising and falling before meeting his gaze once more. “Today was an improvement, at least,” Tamara told Carlisle with a roll of her eyes._

_“How so?” he asked in return._

_“At least, this time he actually remembered to get me in the car before driving here. Last time he ran around screaming for his keys, got all the way here, and told people I was in labor. The nurse had sense enough to call my cell and ask if I needed a ride.”_

Carlisle chuckled as he set his bag down inside his office, slipping his journal out of the side pocket before reaching for his fountain pen as he sat down to write. ** _  
_**

_March 14, 2009_ **_  
_ **

_It was an eventful day, and the administrative staff at Forks hospital seems more grateful than ever that my knowledge of specialties is so vast. I texted Emmett on my way home as I felt the need to speak with him in regards to Rosalie, hoping perhaps he had some insight to offer. I wasn’t surprised when he told me he was with Angela; after all, he has been increasingly protective of her since her illness. I went to her house and upon arriving he messaged that he had left her front door open. I found him the same position that I have so many times, lying back on Angela’s bed with her tucked against his side._

_It isn’t unusual for me to find Emmett with Angela now. Rosalie is often by his side as well. Their visits have been more frequent, especially after Edward commented on the unexpected study date between Bella and Angela. He hasn’t said more on the subject, and neither has Bella, but I have witnessed how the news affected Rosalie and Emmett. Their habit of staying with her only a few nights a week has changed into a near-nightly habit. I asked him about the change, and his answer he gave was not one I was prepared for._

_He told me that in the days immediately following her recovery, she didn’t seem as exhausted as she usually does. The fear that seemed to keep her hidden in the shadows has diminished as well, and while it certainly is not gone, it is less than what it was. The only change he could attribute this to was that one of us was always with her, always holding her while she slept, and reading to her or talking to her. She wasn’t alone, and though barely coherent most of the time, she knew that she was protected._

_He also told me that he had started setting up study dates with her, sessions that he has no need for, but that have given him the excuse of spending time with her in the evenings. He even accompanied Angela to an exhibit she wanted to see in Pullman almost a week ago now. It’s a ten hour drive one way, he spent over twenty-four hours with her—between the driving and the museum. I thought perhaps that excursion may be the reason for Rosalie’s upset, and spoke with him of my concerns. I must say that I was surprised to learn that not only was she supportive of his decision to accompany Angela, but she actually encouraged it._

_On the nights that Emmett needs to hunt, or arrives late for one reason or another, it is Rosalie who is with her, holding her while she sleeps. I asked him if Angela was aware that she wasn’t actually sleeping alone anymore. Of course, my son hadn’t informed her, and yes that knowledge amuses me. He told me that she usually falls asleep on his shoulder after about two hours from the time he arrives for their study dates, and that it is Rosalie who has been changing her into sleeping clothes. Once she is settled beneath the blankets in her bed, that is when he lies down next to her, and Emmett told me it is Angela who always moves in her sleep to curl against his side._

_There is one other bit of troubling information that Emmett has gathered in the past two weeks that he’s spent time with her. He has not seen—or smelled—her parents once. They have not returned home at any time, and he has not caught their scent in her house when he comes to see Angela for their study sessions at night. I find that I am still troubled by the same question I have been for weeks, ever since I came upon her sleeping in the hospital . . . Why is she alone?_

_I have talked to Alice, but she seems to be confused which is unlike her. I have never known her visions not to give her an answer, and neither has she. She has been planning a girl’s weekend for her and Bella over Spring Break. I don’t know what will come of it, but as she became more distracted, it was Edward who informed me that she has been searching her visions for answers about that weekend. Answers to what, he does not know, but I have seen a change in Edward as well. I believe Bella may be softening him a bit, for he doesn’t seem as troubled as he once did. The change is infinitesimal, but I see it taking place a little more every day. I am grateful that my son has finally found his mate. Bella is good for him and I have seen her grow more confident as well. Apart they are fragile, but together they are invincible, just like Esme and myself._

_To love and be loved is life’s greatest gift._

 


	6. Chapter 5 "Carlisle's Discoveries"

A.N.: The Twilight Saga, both the books and movies, and all recognizable characters are the sole property of Stephanie Meyer. While I am borrowing the characters for a little while, this story is my own. No copyright infringement is intended. This story is canon AU, the characters and, a few moments in the stories, are a blend between the books and movies. Angela Weber, for instance, is the movie version, and not the book’s original description. Though this story will, at times, show all the relationships both familial and romantic between the couples, the main focus is on Angela Weber and how she becomes a member of the Cullen family.

 

Summary: Emmett had never thought much of Angela Weber until he was paired with her for a history assignment in class. She had always been just another one of Bella’s friends, someone whom he looked out for because Bella did. But then one day he learned that the girl who always seemed so silent was the one person who was screaming the loudest, and what kind of protector would he be to ignore the cries of an innocent in pain?

 

 

Roses in Winter

By WhisperingWolf

**_Book One: Shattering Glass_ **

Chapter 5

_Carlisle’s Discoveries_

Angela squeezed her eyes closed as she took in a deep breath, holding the air inside her lungs for as long as she could before releasing it slowly, counting the seconds as she exhaled. She wasn’t listening to what the teacher was saying, the man’s words little more than an incoherent stream of sounds. The analogue clock that hung on the wall at the front of the classroom was louder, the secondhand ticking by in a roaring vibrating echo, as though someone was slamming a sledgehammer into the floor. Or was that sound being made by the blood pounding in her ears instead? She couldn’t tell.

She moved slowly, each flex of muscle causing shocks of fire to cascade down her back, as she lifted her arm up to rest her elbow on top of her desk. Bowing her head just enough to pinch the bridge of her nose as tightly as she dared, she repeated the breathing exercise, only barely able to bite back the whimper of pain, the sound catching in her throat. Her migraine had started somewhere around second period, growing steadily worse all day. At first, it had been little more than an irritation that wouldn’t go away, a dull throbbing in the back of her head on the left side as though she’d been struck with a bat. It had spread slowly, growing into a piercing burn, like that of a red-hot poker shoved through her left eye, only to remain trapped inside her brain with no escape.

Her neck and back were stiff, every nerve ending feeling as though it was burning, but even with the heat the pain she was in produced, she felt unaccountably cold. She would give anything for the sweater she’d left in her car, the simple knitted fabric comforting in how heavy it was. There was no comfort to be found here, no way to escape or dull the pain.

She couldn’t reach for her new medication. Even if she wasn’t as nauseous as she was now, she knew there was no way she could take it during school. The drug took the edge off, allowed her just enough relief to be able to handle the pain without wanting to cry or scream, but for the first two hours after she took it, it left her jittery, blurring her vision, and clouding her mind to such an extent that speaking became nearly impossible. The only benefit, in her opinion, was that after those two hours had passed, the drug knocked her out. The first time she had taken it, she had been asleep for almost six hours straight, only to wake up feeling barely functional.

Forcing herself to sit up straight, the position adding to the discomfort she was already in, she kept her eyes closed, lowering her arm from the desk, and took in a deep breath. Hiding her hands in her lap as she pinched the muscle of the inside curve of her left thumb and index finger, she released the air slowly. She drew in another deep slow breath, holding it for as long as she could as she increased the pressure on the acupressure point she held, exhaling as slowly and silently as possible. It didn’t take her pain away, it didn’t even dull it, but it did allow her just enough control to be able to function once more.

She was grateful it was her last class of the day, knowing that she was barely making it through as it was. Today started Spring break, nine days where she wouldn’t have to worry about school or having to be functional. She blinked as her brows drew together, pressing her lips together in a thin line as she realized it also meant nine days where she would be alone. She could take her medicine as soon as she got home, she reasoned, sleep until it wore off; but even with as much pain as she was in, she really didn’t want to be alone. Maybe she’d spend the night with Nurse Marks, she thought. Where else could she go? Her migraine flared, pulsing stronger, and she bit her lip as she whimpered.

_Class is almost over and I have serious doubts I’m going to be able to stand. I should be okay as long as I close my eyes before he turns the lights back on. Last thing I need to do is pass out._

Squeezing her eyes closed and clenching her jaw when the teacher moved his hand to the light switch, Angela waited until the light flooded through the thin membrane of her closed eyelids in shades of red and pinpricks of white before opening her eyes as slowly as she dared. Too slowly and the teacher would think she’d fallen asleep, too quickly and she’d be lucky if she didn’t pass out, or worse—throw up. Blinking and wincing at the new wave of pain that the light inspired, she shifted her gaze away from the front of the class where the light reflected off the brushed chrome of the television cart, and found Edward Cullen to be looking back at her with a note of concern furrowing his brows. Offering a half smile to tell him that she was all right, her expression was unknowingly tired and pained.

She stilled, her eyes watching Edward without seeing him as the ghost of a memory flowed through her mind. She could almost feel the cool brush of fingers against her cheek and when she closed her eyes, could hear Edward’s voice echoing soothingly in her mind telling her that everything would be all right. As elusive as a dream, the half-formed memory disappeared as easily as it had come to her, and she blinked in confusion. Was it a memory, or just a dream her mind had conjured up? There was no way to tell for certain, the images too muddled to make sense of. She couldn’t ask them, either. How would that look? Especially when she was told it was nothing more than a fantasy.

Every now and again, she would see flashes of images, snippets of something that her mind almost recalled, involving his family. Mostly it was just their faces she would see, or a whisper of their voices she would hear, always soothing and comforting her. Always making her feel safe. She knew that a few weeks ago she had been terribly sick, but she had very few coherent memories of those three days that followed. All she could really remember was waking up, feeling remarkably better and finding herself to be tucked against Emmett’s side. He had disappeared shortly after she’d gotten up to take a shower, and she hadn’t been able to tell if she’d just imagined him being there or not. Her kitchen had been fully restocked as well; it was as though everything that had happened with her parents had just been a nightmare.

Her eyes refocused as her attention was pulled from her thoughts and she watched Alice stare at Edward before she stood and moved from her desk. Glancing away quickly when she realized she’d been staring, Angela gathered her notebook and pens. She closed her book only to frown at the white notecard that fell out of the text’s pages to land face down on the floor. She felt her pulse quicken as she stared at the card, unable to help the sudden apprehension that stilled her mind, and caused her heart to skip a beat.

Ben had always insisted that he wasn’t the one leaving her the little notes that were always sweet and romantic, if not at times a tad bit creepy, and now she had to wonder if he hadn’t been telling the truth all along. He had left for an early Spring Break vacation to a coastal town in Mexico two days ago with Jessica, Mike, Tyler, and Eric, so there was no way that he could’ve been the one to leave her the note today. She felt suddenly cold, a bit frightened as she wondered who could be sending her these notes. Who was putting them in her school books? Reaching down and grasping the card, she turned it over, reading it as she lifted it up, and felt her blood freeze in her veins as she stared at the typed message.

 

********

_You’re beautiful in the blue lace. It’s lovely against your skin_

********

 

Blue lace? The only blue lace she owned was the bra and pantie set she was wearing now. Angela’s face paled, her migraine screaming like a siren inside her brain as her anxiety rose ever higher. Whoever it was that was sending her these notes had seen her in her underwear. The notes and flowers that she had once thought were sweet, but misguided attempts at a romantic gesture, now made her feel unsafe. A cool touch on her shoulder drew her attention and she flinched as she looked up to see the light shining directly behind a very exuberant Alice Cullen. Shaking her head and making a soft sound of confusion, she asked Alice to repeat her question.

“Bella and Rose and I are having a girl’s weekend. You should join us!” Alice said as she bounced on the balls of her feet in the black ballet slipper-style shoes she wore.

Angela bit her lip and giggled at Alice’s infectious laughter, the note in her hand forgotten. Shaking her head as she tucked her book into her backpack, the note slipped from her fingers to fall to the bottom of the bag. She stood slowly as she tried not to wince, slinging the bag up onto her shoulder, and nodded. As much as she didn’t feel up to being active, she also didn’t want to be alone, and maybe it was selfish, but she also knew Emmett would be there. He’d always made her feel safe.

“Well?” Alice demanded, smiling despite her seeming impatience.

Angela laughed as she looked to Edward. He offered her a sheepish crooked grin, shaking his head and shrugging, as if to say _‘You really think I can stop Alice?’_ She couldn’t help but laugh when Alice bounced in front of her and asked—or more truthfully demanded—once again that she join them for a girl’s weekend. Angela giggled as she bit her lip and nodded. She hadn’t had a real girl’s weekend before and it would be nice to be around people who understood the comfort found in moments of silence. The few times Jessica had invited her over for a girl’s night, they had always been just about Jessica, and not once had the girl stopped talking.

“I knew you would say yes!” Alice cheered as she clapped her hands, bouncing on the balls of her feet in triumph.

“I do have a few things that I need to take care of before I come over though,” Angela said as she walked with Alice out of the classroom, Edward trailing behind them. “Is Emmett sick?” she asked, frowning as she couldn’t remember having seen him at all throughout the day.

Edward chuckled. “He and Jasper went camping last night. They should both be home sometime tonight or tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Angela said with a curious nod.

“Carlisle’s done at the hospital at seven, I could ask him to pick you up from your house on his way home, that way you don’t have to drive,” Alice offered as Angela watched Bella melt into Edward’s arms.

“Are you sure he wouldn’t mind?” Angela asked as she frowned.

Alice smiled as she shook her head. “He’ll be happy to. See you tonight, Angela!”

Angela watched Alice dance away, Edward and Bella following after her, before she turned in the opposite direction and made her way down the hall. She needed to remember to stop by the school’s newspaper office before she left for break, she thought, as she adjusted her grip on her backpack, wincing as it dug into her shoulder. She also needed to make sure she had everything she needed for the assignments that were due the day classes were back in session. There may not be very much to be completed, but she also planned to work ahead as much as she could, having learned long ago that having assignments done ahead of time saved her on the days when she simply couldn’t focus around the pain or didn’t have the energy to do anything at all.

Angela was almost to her locker when she looked up, her eyes widening as she froze in place. Sticking out of the top of her locker was a folded piece of white paper, and she honestly didn’t know if she wanted to know what was written on it. She didn’t want it to be there, she was no longer excited by the notes. It seemed that in just the blink of an eye, the little presents had gone from questionably sweet to terrifying.

She should’ve listened to Ben all those times that he insisted he wasn’t the one leaving them for her. But she hadn’t wanted to, had she? A note from Ben was sweet, thoughtful—safe. A note from someone she didn’t know, by an author who seemed to know a lot about her— _intimate_ things about her—that was terrifying in a way she couldn’t accurately describe. All the times she’d seen a shadow move inside her house, outside her window, all the times she’d heard the stairs or floorboards creak and had told herself it was just her imagination came back to her in a maddening display, flooding her mind as she blinked and tried to gain control of her shaking hands.

Closing her eyes as she tried to rein in her fear, she felt suddenly selfish at how glad she was that she wouldn’t be alone tonight. Reaching up to grasp the paper with an unsteady hand, her fingers closed around the edge sticking out, pulling it down and tucking it into her jeans pocket as her migraine flared again, and she groaned. The fire was building hotter, her vision blurring as she squeezed her eyes closed and leaned her forehead against the cool metal of the locker door. Her breaths came in fast shallow pants, her eyes stinging, and she realized absently that she was fighting against the desire to cry. She bit back a whimper as the ringing in her ears sounded again, louder, shriller than before, and she clenched her jaw, fearing once more that she would pass out.

She had been dealing with migraines ever since she was young, but over the years they had steadily grown increasingly worse. And with each new medication that failed to work or only made the pain worse, she found herself believing more and more what her parents had always said—that the migraines were some kind of punishment. Squinting her eyes against the harsh mix of sunlight and florescent lamps, she dug through first her purse and then her backpack in search of her newest prescription. She knew the dangers of taking this latest medication before driving, but if she was lucky, the medicine wouldn’t affect her vision or spatial reasoning until she got home. Cursing when she was unable to find her prescription, Angela closed her eyes against the sting of tears that were too close to the surface for her liking.

Covering her eyes with one hand, and squeezing her temples between her thumb and middle finger, her glasses dangled from her hand, her fingers barely holding onto the plastic temple of the frames. In the past six months she’d been prescribed three different medications, each of them an abortive prescription, and each by a different doctor. Not one of them had talked with her about a preventative, but then again, none of the doctors had been the same person when she’d gone in for the next appointment.

It was a constant source of annoyance and frustration that she had to see a different primary care physician each time, and each time, she was referred to a different neurologist—some of them as far away as Seattle and Tacoma. Forks Hospital seemed to be little more than a stepping stone for the higher specialists looking for more exciting cases. The one and only neurologist she’d been referred to in Forks had moved his business to Port Angeles before she could schedule an appointment, and hadn’t been willing to schedule an appointment with a patient that didn’t live in the same city as his office.

Forks Hospital didn’t provide any comfort to her medically, but it did offer her one thing she’d never found anywhere else—safety. The only constant for her was seeing Dr. Cullen in the halls when she entered. Even when Nurse Marks, and the few others she was familiar with weren’t there, Dr. Cullen was. There were times it felt like he was there every time she was, but she doubted that he knew she was there so often. And even though she never stopped to say hello to him, it was his ever-constant presence when she walked through the doors that made her feel some semblance of safety. 

Angela shook her head as she pressed her hand against her locker, pushing away without opening the door. She didn’t turn back, didn’t go to the newspaper office as she’d planned to, the intention to do either simply vanishing from her mind like so much smoke, and walked to the front doors of the school instead. There was a group of students in front of her—football players, by her best guess—but she couldn’t hear what they were saying over the ringing in her ears. She didn’t notice that she’d made it outside until the sunlight hit her eyes, the light making it impossible for her to keep walking.

She gripped the railing as she lowered herself down to sit on the concrete stairs, squeezing her eyes closed as she pinched the bridge of her nose. Taking in a deep breath and holding it for a count of eight, Angela puffed out her cheeks as she released the breath as slowly as possible. The breathing techniques didn’t make the pain go away, but they did help her control her reactions to it, helped her function and pretend to be okay. Blinking slowly, Angela gripped the railing in order to pull herself to her feet, and hoped that her migraine wouldn’t hinder the weekend of fun Alice seemed to have planned.

She’d never been invited over to the Cullen’s house before and she wasn’t sure why she was now, except for maybe the fact that Bella was Edward’s girlfriend now. And Emmett. . . She released a soft breath as she bit her lip, smiling as she ducked her head. Emmett was quite possibly the best friend she’d ever had. Walking down the first and second rows of cars, she closed her eyes and shook her head. At least it wasn’t another night spent alone in an empty house. She was truly glad to be spending the weekend with them.

Over the past few months, Emmett had become a close friend, a trusted confidant. He made her feel safe when nothing else could, often treating her as though he had decided that she truly was his sister. He was goofy and brotherly, but in the quiet moments, he was calm, offering her his strength when she felt that she lacked any of her own. And when she was afraid, Angela thought as she stepped through the parking lot, somehow, he always knew. The times he’d called her out of the blue—after she’d already told herself not to call him—the times he’d offered to come to wherever she was—even when she was over an hour away in Port Angeles. She wondered if he’d ever know just how grateful she was for his friendship.

Her soft smile faded away as she stilled, waiting as another student backed out of a parking space before she moved any closer. Her birthday was only a few months away, and for the first time in years, she wanted to spend it with someone—spend it with her friend, but could she really ask that of him? Wasn’t that something a girlfriend would do? She wasn’t that, didn’t want to be that, but she didn’t want to be alone, either. And if she did ask, just what would he think? What would Rosalie think?

Almost a month ago now, she had spent a few hours with Rosalie at a classic car and hotrod engine show. It had been a bit of a surprise for them both, but the afternoon really had been amazing. Angela sighed. Even with that interaction, could she ask either of them—both of them—to spend the day with her without having to say what the day meant to her? Telling them that it was her birthday if she asked them to spend the day with her. . . it felt a bit too much as though she would be guilting them into say yes.

She shook her head at her own thoughts, offering a fleeting smile when the driver of the car waved at her, and waited for him to drive past her before stepping further through the rows of parked cars. Smiling was easy. Even laughing and joking and having a good time wasn’t that difficult. She was used to her parents’ continued and extended absences. She’d receive a postcard on her birthday and another for Christmas if they weren’t home. No, those things she could brush off. After all, she had her friends, didn’t she?

What was hard, what was infinitely more difficult and often caused her to have to fake smiles and pretend that she was having a good time was when she was invited for her friends’ birthday parties. Watching as her friends were doted on by their parents, while she accompanied them for intimate family birthday dinners, or fun filled parties; even just the memories of the casual slumber parties she’d been invited to from grade school, had the power to make her heart ache, and bring her migraines on even stronger.

She turned her head as she walked over to her car, her brow furrowing as she caught sight of something white sticking up from beneath her windshield wiper. The Forks High School parking lot didn’t have meter maids, or parking tickets, so whatever it was, someone else had put it there. Too small to be a flyer or a pamphlet, her eyes widened as she grew close enough to see that it was the same shade of white, same size and thickness, as the other notecards she’d been receiving.

The sight of it made her tremble with fear. It was irrational to be this afraid, wasn’t it? But even still, she couldn’t deny the sudden urge to call Emmett. Brow furrowing as she grasped the folded piece of paper and shoved it in her pocket alongside the note she had found earlier sticking out of her locker, she unlocked her car and threw her bag inside before climbing behind the wheel. She nearly dropped her keys three tries before she was able to control her shaking hands enough to put her key into the ignition and turn it. The engine knocked and sputtered, refusing to be turned on. She pressed her forehead against the steering wheel as she turned the key again and again, hearing the engine grind and groan as though it were out of gas before it suddenly roared to life. She sat back as she released a harsh exhalation—somewhere between a cough and sigh—as she shifted into reverse, and didn’t hesitate as she pulled out of the parking space. It was just a note, she told herself as she dropped her silent phone onto the seat next to her. It would be childish to call anyone just because she was scared of a note.

One note a day she was used to, but three? It was beginning to bother her more and more that she was getting them. They were frightening her, especially now that she finally believed Ben’s continued insistence that he wasn’t the one sending them to her. Biting her lip and making a last second decision, she swung into the parking lot at the police station and parked her car near the doors without turning off the engine. She didn’t know if she should go in or not. Surely there was information on the internet about stalkers and she was only getting notes—intimate notes—but still just notes. Dropping her forehead to rest on the top curve of her steering wheel, she took in a deep breath hoping to calm herself. They were just notes—that’s all—just _notes_. She was working herself up over nothing.

“What am I even doing here?” Angela asked herself as she threw her car into reverse, and pulled out of the parking space. “Why would I have a stalker?”

Shaking her head and pulling back out onto the street, she headed home. How did any of this make sense? What was happening here? _Why_ was it happening?

“Jesus!” Angela shouted, slamming on the brakes harder than necessary when her phone’s shrill ringtone broke the silence of her car. “Hello,” she answered her phone, out of breath and wishing her racing heart to slow as she pulled through the green light. “Emmett?” she called in hopes of hearing his voice.

The phone clicked a second later, the sound of it strange to her. It wasn’t the beep of a cell phone or a cordless phone, the sound had been that of a receiver being returned to its cradle. She glanced at the screen of her phone, before letting the silent device fall to the seat next to her as she pulled through the green light. Ben was gone; so were Eric, Tyler, Jessica and Mike. Her five friends had headed out together the day before yesterday for an early start to their shared Spring Break vacation. She had opted not to go and was beginning to regret it just a little bit.

A trip to Mexico had sounded fun, but even as she drove her car slowly down the street toward her house, Angela couldn’t bring herself to want that kind of frivolity. Going down to the beach in La Push was one thing, going to another country to blow off steam and act insane for two weeks was completely different. The more time she spent with Emmett and Bella, the more separated she felt from her other friends. They wanted different things, were interested in different things, and the more common ground she tried to find with Ben and the others, the more she realized that they were just too different.

Pulling into her driveway, Angela let the car idle for a few minutes before turning off the engine. Bowing her head down over the steering wheel, she closed her eyes for a moment, taking in a steadying breath, before releasing her seatbelt and opened the car door. She nearly fell to her knees when she stood from her seat, her vision blurring as spots danced before her eyes. Her stomach turned as she groaned, that same weightless floating feeling assailing her once more as it had during her last period class, and she squeezed her eyes closed as she braced herself against the car.

Her migraine was not going to go away, was it? Every movement, every change from sitting down to standing up, to walking, was bringing on bright flares of pain, the ungodly weightless spinning of vertigo, and a twisting nausea that ebbed and surged but never quite went away. _You can’t give me just one night without pain, can you?_ She thought ruefully as she slowly stepped away from the door and reached back inside to grab her bags and cell phone.

Darkness swam in Angela’s vision when she stood once more, and she stumbled against the car as she closed the door. Pinching the bridge of her nose and closing her eyes, she counted her steps—eight from the car to the walk, turn left, four steps turn right, three more to get to the front stoop. She stopped as she searched for her keys, wincing at the scrape of metal as she fit the key into the lock. The knob on her front door turned just a little too easily, but the pain of her migraine distracted her from noticing that the lock and deadbolt were undone, that the door wasn’t completely latched. Stepping inside the silent home and shutting the door, Angela dropped her school bag and purse on the couch and sat down beside them.

“The Treximet leaves me jittery and unable to focus, but does help me sleep. The Imitrex helps me function better but barely takes the edge off the pain. The Cafergot is an option, but not a very good one.” Puffing out her cheeks as she released a long slow and frustrated breath, Angela stood and walked into the kitchen. “So, if I want to enjoy the weekend with Alice and the others, I need to choose one to take. ‘Remember, Miss Weber’,” she mimicked the low voice of the most recent neurologist she’d seen and wondered just why it was that she never seemed to see the same doctor twice. “’You shouldn’t mix one migraine medicine with another, and don’t take them with alcohol.’” She shook her head as she scoffed. “Then find me something that works.”

There were other choices, of course, previous medicines she’d been prescribed that may not do much on their own, but maybe together—Angela shook her head as she dismissed the thought. A hot bath had always helped before, and it was only four PM now. She could take a bath and soak for a while and still be ready by the time Carlisle came to get her. But first, she thought as she looked at the stairs, she needed to put her bags together so that she didn’t have to think about it later.

“Today’s impossible task,” she said to herself as she looked at the floor above from where she stood at the foot of the stairs. “Climbing the stairs.”

She closed her eyes as she gripped the banister with one hand, using her other as a brace against the wall as she made her way up to her room. It wasn’t always so bad, but on average, this was a medium day. Her eyes were sensitive to all forms of light, but it wasn’t bad enough right now that she was wanting to shut herself away in the dark. Her pain was on the verge of becoming unbearable, it was at the point now where she wanted to scream or cry—she didn’t know which—but at least she could see, for the most part. And at least she could still grip things. There were times she couldn’t do either.

She’d had full days when she couldn’t even maintain her grip on a pen enough to write her name, or a cup so that she could drink something. There had been more than a few times when she found her vision so blurred or—a few times in the past several months—where it was gone completely for minutes or even hours on end. It was why she had started going down to the Olympic Coast Blind Institute in Aberdeen. It was part of the association of schools that assisted the blind, but more specifically, they assisted adults who had been blinded by accidents, disease, or were slowly going blind.

“At least, I can almost read in Braille,” Angela said as she made her way to the top landing and slipped into her room. “I’m still learning, but I’m getting better.”

She had to have hope, she had to practice, to know the skills she would need when the time came that she could no longer see. If she wallowed, if she allowed herself to get stuck in a downward spiral, how much worse would it be when she no longer had a choice?

“Enough of that,” Angela said aloud, effectively closing the door on those thoughts. “Spring Break. Girls’ weekend. Fun,” she reminded herself.

Taking a bag from her closet, Angela gathered a single change of clothes, fully expecting that she would be returning here tomorrow night. After all, girls’ night meant just one night, didn’t it? The last thing she wanted to do was look like she was packing to move in. She grabbed another set of clothes, carrying them into the bathroom, and set the neat stack on the counter before moving to the bath. Dropping the plug into the drain, she turned on the water as hot as it would go, leaving it to fill as she returned down stairs.

Reaching into her pocket for her cell phone, she felt the notes instead and pulled them out. Pursing her lips as she thought about opening them or leaving the notes unread, she walked into the kitchen, not seeing the single red rose lying on the table. Grabbing a can of Dr. Pepper from the fridge and opening it as she walked through the house and up to her room, she wondered why it was that anyone would choose her to focus their attention on. She could open the notes and read them, she reasoned, but then she might be obsessing about them during her time with the girls. Grabbing the shoebox from her dresser that she had been using to store the other notes and flowers that she had received over the past four months, she debated with whether to toss the notes inside unopened, or read them.

Sitting down at her desk as she took a drink of her soda, her curiosity finally won out. Opening the note she’d found in her locker first, she looked at the quarter-folded computer printout. Her face was a mask of confusion as she studied it. It was just a bunch of number ones. It didn’t make any sense. The sheet was covered from top to bottom in repeated, medium font, number ones. There were spaces here and there, but she couldn’t seem to find any discernible pattern. Shrugging her shoulders and tossing it into the shoe box she opened the note she’d found on her windshield.

 

********

_Do you like it?_

********

 

Like what? Shaking her head and tossing that note into the box as well, Angela replaced the lid and pinched the bridge of her nose. Wrapping her arms over her stomach and bending forward, she panted harshly, her eyes tightly shut as she fought away the sudden nausea her migraine inspired. Minutes felt like hours, but soon enough her stomach settled down and she sat up slowly. She stood from the desk, leaving her soda behind as she returned to the bathroom and closed the door.

She disrobed slowly, every movement taking effort and focus. Steam from the hot water filled the room, fogging up the mirror, and easing some of the stress of her migraine. She hissed as she stepped into the bath, sinking slowly into the water and leaned back as she closed her eyes. The pressure began to ease, making the pain of her migraine more bearable as the muscles through her shoulders and back relaxed.

Almost two hours later, Angela emerged from the bath, cleaned, dried, and dressed, and for the first time that day—relaxed. Flipping on the exhaust fan as she left the bathroom, she returned to her bedroom, only to brace her hand against the door frame as the vertigo returned stronger than before. She was going to enjoy this weekend, even if it killed her, Angela thought as she moved to her desk and sat down. Rubbing her temples with her fingertips, she opened the desk drawer next to her and pulled out the bottles of her three most recent medications, studying the labels as she held them in her hands.

“Imitrex barely takes the edge off at all but lets me stay focused and engaged. Relpax really doesn’t seem to do a damn thing except increase the pain and keep me awake for days on end, and Treximet just makes me feel zombie-ish and unsteady . . . So, which one do I take?” The clock downstairs chimed the hour, and Angela looked at her cell phone. “It’s already six?”

Standing the three bottles next to her can of soda, she opened her desk drawer again and pulled out an over the counter bottle of anti-nausea medicine. Taking two of the pills, she gripped the side of her desk and stood slowly. The Dramamine would have to do until she figured out which of her migraine meds to take. She dropped to her knees at the foot of her bed and pulled out a large, flat plastic box from beneath. The box wasn’t heavy, but at four feet long and three feet wide—meant to hold posters, or similar things needed to be kept flat—it was awkward. Setting the box on her bed and removing the lid, she looked down at the stack of MRI films and her older bottles of migraine medications.

Six other orange bottles sat among the stack of medical films and Angela sighed, shaking her head before turning around and grabbing her overnight bag from her desk chair. Jogging downstairs and dropping the bag next to her purse, she grabbed her school bag and headed back to her room. Retrieving her laptop from her bag and setting it on her desk, she turned on the computer. The note she had dropped into her backpack earlier was stuck to the edge of her laptop and she bit her lip as she read it again.

“Just stop it,” she told herself as she removed the note, refusing to open as she hid it away in the shoe box on the edge of her desk.

Moving to the box on her bed, Angela withdrew the small well-worn leather-bound journal from inside. Her first neurologist had advised her to keep a journal detailing her reactions to the pain medications so that she would have a written account if anything unforeseen happened. He had never said as much, but with the increasing severity of her migraines, Angela wondered just what that “something unforeseen” might be. Turning back to her laptop, she pulled up a webpage and searched for anything that she might be able to mix her Imitrex with to help with her pain. Imitrex was the only one of her medications that allowed her to function, but the main problem she had was that in the course of only three months, her migraines had outgrown its effectiveness for reducing her pain.

Hearing a knock at the front door as she read through the more informative sites regarding drug interactions, she called out distractedly for whoever it was to come in. Arching a brow and sitting back against her chair, forgetting that there was someone downstairs waiting for her, Angela bit her lip against another flare from her migraine. Pressing her fingertips against her temples as she whimpered, she once again resorted to her breathing exercises to push the pain away enough to focus on what she was doing.

Mixing the medications really wasn’t an option at all according to the listed dangers and side effects of what could happen, everything from nosebleeds, which she already had, to heart attack and stroke, but there was one post that linked to a forum for users of the medication. _When Imitrex just isn’t enough._ Angela blinked as she clicked on the post, opening it up as she read through the information written within. This user had mixed Imitrex with another medication, one that she had been prescribed almost two years ago. There were a number of replies to the user’s post, advising caution, but it looked like the answer she’d been looking for.

 

**~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~**

**  
**

Carlisle looked up from the file on his desk, turning his eyes toward the door when he heard the soft knock. He took in a deep breath, focusing on the scent of the person outside, and tipped his head in curiosity as he invited Camille Marks inside. They hadn’t spoken much since the night Angela had come into the hospital, but he had noticed a difference, a change among the nursing staff. They had always been friendly before, some of them a bit too friendly at times, but that came part and parcel with being what he was. Since that fateful night, however, the nurses had seemed to rally around him in a way he’d never experienced before.

Any patient he had was cared for first, as if they’d been moved to a top priority, each and every one of them telling him how kind the nurses were. If there was a child, a woman, anyone that had come into the E.R. or the clinic that they had any reason to believe was being—or had been—abused in some manner, they made certain that he was the doctor to see them. Not the doctor on call, not the doctor that was available— _him_. He’d been curious enough to ask Edward about it, and the answer he’d received wasn’t what he’d expected.

_“Because of how you looked after Angela, they trust you completely. Nurse Marks told one of the other nurses about seeing Rosalie with Angela, hearing her reading to Angela while she slept,” Edward told him as he stood inside of Carlisle’s office at the hospital, a smile curling his lips as he nodded to himself. “They always saw you as a good doctor, a skilled surgeon, compassionate and kind. But now.” He paused as he met Carlisle’s gaze. “They see you as a savior of the innocent. Angela means more to them than they told you, and when you—by chance—saw Angela when she came in to sleep here, and Nurse Marks had no choice at the time but to trust you, you exceeded any expectation she had and quelled any fears that may have been lurking in the back of her mind. Should anyone ever dare speak ill of you, there is an entire staff of nurses who will stand behind you.”_

“I won’t take long,” Camille said as she stepped inside and closed the door, drawing Carlisle from his thoughts. “I know you were leaving soon.”

“Please, have a seat,” Carlisle said as he stood from his desk, moving to sit on the edge of it when she sat down in the visitor’s chair to the right. “How can I help you?” he asked, frowning curiously when she shook her head.

He watched her, studying the nurse as she bowed her head, before she looked up to meet his gaze. “I overheard you talking with Alice when she came by a few hours ago,” she began, the slightest furrow between her brows as though she were still putting her thoughts in order. “You’re picking up Angela when you leave here, taking her home for a girls’ weekend with your daughters.”

“Yes, that’s right,” he confirmed with a slow nod.

She stilled, took in a deep breath as though preparing to speak but remained silent a moment longer. “I haven’t seen Angela inside this hospital since the night you found out that she sleeps here,” she began slowly, pausing for a moment before continuing, “and the day I saw your sons bring her in wrapped in a blanket looking like death warmed over.”

Carlisle frowned as he studied her, unable to read her expression. She didn’t appear upset, but that didn’t stop the worry he felt that he would be asked a question he couldn’t answer.

“I have seen her a few times since, at the coffee shop, the local county library, a few other places,” she said, falling silent as she bit her lips. She frowned again, closed her eyes before nodding to herself and met his gaze, her dark green eyes boring into his. “Angela’s always been independent, but not because she wanted to be. She’s always been very cautious about who she shows affection for and _how_ she shows that affection as though she’s afraid she’ll be thrown away or dismissed. She’s a bit like a puppy that’s been kicked one too many times, wanting so badly to trust that hand held out will be gentle, but so desperately afraid that it won’t be.”

Carlisle shook his head. “Camille, I—” He fell silent when she held up her hand.

“I moved here six years ago, at a very painful time in my life,” she told him. “Ryan, my husband, had been called out for a special assignment. I didn’t even know he was gone until he sent me a text—I was still at work.” She lifted her brows as she tilted her head. “Life of an Army Ranger’s wife,” she said with a shrug. “Three days after that, I found out I was pregnant. Two weeks later, when there had been no word from him, and a news story about a special forces team taking enemy fire and not making it out alive—my fear and distress caused a miscarriage.”

Carlisle frowned, his eyes widening slightly as he studied her. She still had more to say, he could see that in her eyes, but he could also see how difficult it was for her.

“The next night that I came in for work after my miscarriage—almost a week later—Angela snuck in. She was so tiny back then. Terribly underweight—she still is—but it was more evident back then. I watched her curl up in a chair to sleep, and maybe it was selfish on my part, but I decided then and there that she was mine to look out for. I would sit with her on the nights she couldn’t sleep,” she said, her lips trembling as she paused, rubbing her lips together as she pushed back the tears he could see glistening in her eyes. “I talked with her when I ran into her at the library or the coffee shop. When she was fourteen, I taught her to drive. The car she has,” she said, laughing softly as she wiped away a fallen tear. “That used to be my car. I gave it to her when she got her driver’s license.”

She was silent for a few moments, sitting with her eyes closed, her lips slightly parted as she took in a series of deep slow breaths. She was still fighting against her emotions, fighting not to cry. Carlisle reached out a hand to her, listened to her laugh softly when she wrapped her fingers around his.

“Those first few months that I knew Angela, the more time I spent around her, the more I felt the pain of losing my unborn child, and the fear of not knowing where my husband was or if he was ever coming home, melt away. As romantic a notion as it sounds, it felt like she was healing me—repairing my broken heart. And even after Ryan returned—” she tipped her head as she offered a soft chuckle, “—and left again on different deployments, I never stopping looking out for her.” She paused as she took in a deep breath, nodding to herself as she smiled, despite the tears standing in her eyes. “I have seen Angela over the years. I have watched her grow, and I have watched her slowly pull away from everyone until she was little more than a shadow. But over these past few months, I have watched her start to shine.”

She laughed softly, shaking her head as she rubbed her lips together. Carlisle tipped his head as he studied her expression.

“In a way that I will never be able to truly explain,” she told him, a single tear slipping down her cheek before she brushed it away with her fingers. “Angela has been a daughter to me—a friend to the others here. She was the first one I told when I found out I was pregnant with Billy—Ryan had left on assignment a few days before that, and before he left I thought I just had the flu. She was there with me when I went into labor, and stayed with me through that first night. She even came over a few times to watch him for me, doing her homework and taking care of him while I went shopping or took care of what I needed to.” She smiled as she met his gaze. “Those months ago, when I told you about her—that she sleeps here sometimes—I knew the chance I was taking, the _risk_ I was taking. Not just with myself, but with her. I entrusted her to you, and you . . . “ She paused, laughing at her own tears as they fell. “Thank you for taking care of her. For watching over her.”

He nodded silently, a gentle smile curling his lips as he watched her stand from her chair. She offered him a trembling smile as she released his hand before slipping around the chairs. She was standing in front of the door when she stopped, her hand on the knob as she turned back to meet his gaze.

“Dr. Pepper, jasmine oolong tea—loose leaf, not bagged. Never bagged,” she said with a shake of her head. “Blackberry cheesecake, dragon fruit, and anything to do with astronomy or history.” Carlisle shook his head in confusion. “A few of Angela’s favorite things. Took me years to learn that,” she said, tipping her head and offering him a smile, as she opened the office door and slipped into the hall, pulling it closed behind her.

Carlisle released a breathy chuckle as he stood from his desk, a crooked smile twisting his lips. Part of him wondered if Angela was even aware of the people she had looking after her. She was important to Camille, to the other nurses. They all feared that she’d be lost somehow, hadn’t they? The way they all rallied around him—Carlisle stilled as he looked up, a smile of wonder curling his lips up at the corners. They already thought he’d somehow adopted her, he realized, and chuckled softly as he shook his head.

He reached for his phone when it began to vibrate, answering his daughter’s call, he set the device down on his desk. “Hello Alice,” he greeted as he gathered his things together.

“I didn’t see her until she was already with you—last minute decision, I guess,” Alice told him. “I told Esme what Camille told you—their history and her favorite things. Esme’s already gone to the store to get it.”

“Which one?” he asked curiously, donning his jacket and scarf before lifting the phone to his ear as he grabbed his briefcase.

“All of them,” she said simply, the line disconnecting a second later.

“All of them,” Carlisle repeated with a grin, as he tucked the phone into his pocket.

 

**~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~**

**  
**

_“When she was fourteen, I taught her to drive. The car she has,” she said, laughing softly as she wiped away a fallen tear. “That used to be my car. I gave it to her when she got her driver’s license.”_

Carlisle slowed for the stoplight, the car idling as Camille’s words came back to him. Of everything she had told him, why was her revelation about teaching Angela to drive and gifting her with her car the part that stood out the most to him? He frowned as he looked up at the light, the crimson glow still shining down on him, and narrowed his eyes as he glanced back at the passenger seat behind him. He tipped his head as he stared at the rear passenger-side seat, his gaze losing focus as a memory whispered to life in his mind.

_Carlisle met Esme’s gaze with a grin before turning to watch as Rosalie pulled his Mercedes into the drive. Her insistence that he’d been neglecting the maintenance on his vehicle came with a shopping trip, it would appear. He watched as she stepped out of the driver’s seat, leaving the car in park and running, before stepping around to the rear passenger-side door._

_“Books?” he commented curiously as he stepped up to the car, his briefcase and medical bag in hand._

_“Just a few,” Rosalie affirmed with a touch of amusement as he slid into his seat behind the wheel, resting his bags on the front passenger seat, and glanced back to see the thick volume resting on the back seat._

_“2006 Hyundai Accent?” he read the title, looking up to meet her gaze. “It doesn’t strike me as your type of vehicle.”_

_Rosalie arched a brow as she lifted the book into one arm while reaching down for a repair kit. “Oh, it isn’t,” she agreed. “It’s sensible. It has a good safety rating, fuel-efficient for a non-hybrid, and it has a nice curtain of airbags around the driver and front passenger seats,” she listed the vehicle’s attributes. “The software on the OEM is a little different than I’m used to, but similar enough that it should be fairly easy to troubleshoot and update, when needed.”_

The memory faded away as the color changed in front of him, the crimson glow disappearing as an emerald glow flared to life. He shook his head as he returned his attention to the road, pulling through the intersection, and turned down the road that would lead him to Angela’s house. He narrowed his eyes as he neared Angela’s house, repeating the make and model of the car on the book out loud. Why did it sound so familiar?

Carlisle slowed his car as he turned into Angela’s driveway, a curious frown drawing his brows together as he parked next to Angela’s car. He’d never paid much attention to it before, he thought as he turned off the engine and stepped from his Mercedes. It was a light color—stormy gray—not the bright white, but not dark either. Carlisle nodded to himself as he studied the vehicle. The color blended in, and perhaps that hadn’t been the reason Camille had originally chosen it, but for Angela, it made sense.

“Hyundai Accent,” he read as he looked at the rear of the car, releasing a harsh exhalation—an almost laugh—as he shook his head. “And I bet it’s a 2006 model,” he said, nodding to himself as he looked up at the house in front of him. “You’ve been looking after her car so that she doesn’t have to,” he mused quietly. “Thank you, Rosalie.”

Carlisle turned away from the car, looking up toward the house only to stop and take notice of it. All the lights were on—the kitchen, the living room, the upstairs in at least one room and definitely in the hall. All the times he’d been over in the past had been to see Angela—or Emmett as he looked after her—he’d never stopped to take in the house itself. It hadn’t seemed important to him then, but it did now. The light didn’t make it more inviting, if anything, he thought, it seemed more like a warning. It was as though Angela was using the light to chase away the shadows.

He stepped closer to the door, knocking three times with the handle of the little chrome knocker, before standing back. His lips twitched with a grin of amusement a moment later as he stepped inside the house at Angela’s invitation, her voice calling to him from upstairs. Bella had done the same thing a few times—calling out for him to come in while she finished whatever she needed to upstairs. Her distraction would give him a few minutes to take in the house, he thought as he stepped out of the entryway, turning to look into the front room.

The couch was set perpendicular to the fireplace, the low coffee table sitting in between the couch and two armchairs. They weren’t recliners, but they did look comfortable, he thought as he glanced to the mantel above the fireplace. His attention shifted, bringing into focus the rise and hollows of the shelf, the changes in the woodgrain that would be invisible to the human eye without a tool used to magnify it. The surface was clear of any dust, no smudges or marks. It had been recently cleaned, he thought as he pulled his focus back, seeing the room at a distance as anyone would.

The carpet had been vacuumed as well, and from the scent, he was certain it had been shampooed recently, within the last two days, at least. Everything was set perfectly in order. There was nothing out of place, no clothes or books left out, no magazines on the coffee table, or picture frames turned at an odd angle. There was a single overnight bag resting on the floor tucked against the side of the couch, set out of the way and beneath the shadow of the wide arm of the furniture. He stepped further into the room, his attention drawn to the mantel. Every picture was framed in silver—except one. And every framed photo held only a man and a woman, her parents—except one.

There were no baby pictures, no photos of an infant, or child, or adolescent. No evidence that she existed through the years. The only photo to contain Angela at all, was the one in the cardboard frame, a picture taken at the winter formal, of her and Ben. She stood nearly half a foot taller than he did, her dress elegant, cut low in the front yet it didn’t reveal anything. The gown reminded him of something Esme would have chosen, classic design, flared skirt, the shine and color of the fabric offsetting Angela’s dark eyes and light complexion beautifully, and while it was cut and tailored to show her curves, it was not risqué.

He turned away from the mantel, looking toward the stairs, his gaze finding the walls empty of any photos. There were none on the end tables by either of the armchairs, nor were there any photos on any of the walls in the living room. It didn’t make sense to him. Perhaps his family didn’t keep many photos out of themselves, but each one of them had a framed photo of themselves, several as a family, and a few of each of the mated pairs. He had entire albums with photos, sketches, and drawings of his family over the years, Between Esme’s love of photography and several of his family members being talented with sketching, he had amassed quite the collection of images. But for Angela to have none aside from her winter formal photo? He couldn’t understand it.

Carlisle narrowed his eyes as he studied the cardboard frame, focusing in on the bottom left corner. Too delicate for a human to see unless they were holding the frame in hand, he could see the crease at the bottom, the bend that spoke of careless handling. His sharpened gaze moved lower, his attention held by the stain on the edge. Pale brown in color, he could tell that whatever had touched it had been carefully blotted away, the attempt to clean it having erased everything but the palest touch of grime. He sniffed at the air, the scents of wood varnish, brick dust, and surface cleaner overshadowing, but not masking the light scent of coffee grounds.

He closed his eyes as he understood the story the frame was telling him. The picture of Angela, her winter formal portrait, had been thrown away and Angela—or perhaps one of his children—had fished it out of the trash and done their best to save it from any further damage. He lifted his hand only to slowly close his fingers and sigh as he dropped his hand to his side once more. Part of him wanted to take the photo, bring it home with him and give it a place to be safe among the photos he held of his family, but it wasn’t his to take. And just like Angela, as much as he may wish otherwise, he had to allow for the possibility that she may never be part of his immortal family.

Carlisle blinked when the clock chimed the hour, his brows drawing together when he realized that he’d been left to his own thoughts for the past twenty minutes. He would have heard Angela if she had called to him, wondering if perhaps she had forgotten that he was waiting. He made his way to the stairs, taking in a deep breath as he stood at the bottom landing. He pursed his lips when he realized that he hadn’t been mistaken, her parents weren’t home and hadn’t been home in a long time—long enough that the only human scent in the house was Angela’s. His frown deepened at the sound of her heartbeat, the rush of air—too soft for a human to hear from where he stood—telling him Angela had been holding her breath.

He was at the top landing in an instant, slowing his steps to a casual human pace as he neared her open bedroom door. She was sitting at her desk, her chair turned sideways—away from the door—her posture stiff. The angle he stood at denied him the ability to see what she was studying on her computer, but it was the large open box on her bed that drew his attention. The size of it was meant to hold posters or prints flat, instead, the clear plastic container filled with medical films, documents, bottles—and a few boxes—of prescriptions.

His curiosity drew him closer, his gaze snapping back to Angela when he heard her gasp, watched her still as she squinted at the screen in front of her before standing and moving to the open box. He could hear the rattle of pills, see the white top of a prescription bottle clenched tightly in her fist as she took in a trembling breath, holding the air inside her lungs only to release it slowly ten seconds later. He could hear the groan, the soft whimper she tried to hide, knew from her movements and mannerisms that she was in pain, and shook his head as he watched her sift through the box until she had the bottle she was searching for.

He pursed his lips as he lifted his hand, rapping the knuckle of his bent index finger lightly against the edge of the door to draw her attention. “May I?” he asked when she met his gaze, her eyes wide.

She blinked quickly as she nodded, and he frowned when he noticed the redness of her eyes. He couldn’t smell her tears, but neither could he silence the thought that she looked as though she’d been crying. He turned to the box as she turned back to her computer, and Carlisle found himself stunned into silence as he lifted two of the films inside. Why did she have copies of MRIs? _Her_ MRIs, he noted, studying her name printed in the bottom right-hand corner of the films. Ten bottles and two boxes, he noted as he lifted three of the medications, the label of each one showing that they’d been prescribed for migraines—each medication more powerful than the last.

This certainly explained why Rosalie thought she was in pain all the time, and why Emmett always believed her to be tired. A headache could be debilitating enough for humans, but migraines and cluster headaches often left their victims exhausted, unable to handle certain sounds, smells, or lights—

_“Angela’s been coming here since she was about twelve,” Camille said softly as she stepped from the room, brushing her hand over the edge of the wall inside to turn off the dim amber glow of the single lamp. “Oh,” Camille said with a nod as she glanced behind her. “Yeah, we fixed the lights in there a while ago. The standard bright white fluorescents are too much for her eyes most days,” she told him, and took in a deep breath as she led him far enough away from the door that their conversation wouldn’t disturb the girl inside the room._

The memory faded away, another piece of the puzzle fitting into place. The dim amber light of the lamp that didn’t meet hospital standards to any degree in the room that was only ever occupied by Angela Weber, and the blackout curtains that he hadn’t thought much about before, made perfect sense to him now. Camille knew about Angela’s migraines, or at least her photosensitivity. But the medications, he thought, as he looked down at the box in front of him, the dosage listed on a few of them were nearly twice the amount he would even consider giving someone of her age and weight.

“Angela, are all these yours?” he asked, praying she would say no, but knowing that she was the only person they could belong to. “Angela?” he turned his head to look at her, dropping the films back into the box when he caught sight of her standing in front of her chair.

She was doing her level best to keep as quiet as possible, holding her breath even as the telltale scent of salt colored the air around her. Her fists pressed were pressed against her tightly closed eyes, her glasses hanging from the crook her right pinky finger, her hands squeezed so tightly around the prescription bottles she held he feared she would break them. Carlisle moved to her at once, calling her name only to receive no response in return. He heard the whimper she tried to bite back, and reached out to her, touching the outside of her shoulder gently, only to press his lips together when she jumped, staring at him with wide eyes as she choked back a startled cry.

He could smell her instant fear, hear the flutter of her heart, the way the rhythm sped uncontrolled for several beats before settling into a steadier, slower—but still elevated—rhythm as she stared at him. He knew at once that she wasn’t afraid of him, rather she was afraid to have been found by him as she was—in pain. Carlisle blinked as he glanced away, before meeting and holding her gaze once more. He projected his scent to her—a predatory trick meant to lull one’s prey into a state of compliance—was something he had learned long ago could make a reluctant patient more compliant. In Angela’s case, he noted, it calmed her, took away the edges of her fear.

_Emmett shook his head as he turned away from the books in front of him, meeting Carlisle’s gaze as his brows rose and fell. “She’ll slip her hand inside the collar of my shirt when she’s sleeping, lay her head over my heart, curl closer to me when I growl. All those things that should be warning her away,” he said, pausing as he shook his head, “she finds comfort in them.”_

He blinked as the memory faded away, returning his attention to Angela. “Here, sit down,” Carlisle said as he gently grasped her arms just above her elbows, guiding her gently into her chair.

He knelt in front of her as he looked up at her, cupping his palm over her brow. She wasn’t fevered, but there was no mistaking the pain she was in. Her migraine was flaring, and it disturbed him that she was trying to be so silent. There was no doubt in his mind that she’d been mistreated for showing her pain in the past, and no doubt as to whom had done so. He pushed those thoughts back as he studied her.

“Close your eyes,” he instructed her softly, keeping his voice low as he cupped his hands behind her head, applying firm steady pressure to the acupressure points at the base of her skull. “Breathe in deeply and hold the air,” he told her, his tone low and soothing. “Release,” he said, listening as she exhaled slowly. “Again, hold the air for a count of eight before releasing it slowly,” he instructed as he pressed the index and middle fingers of both hands against her temples. “One more time” he said as he moved his hands to cup her jaw, pressing the pads of his thumbs against the upward curve of her orbital bones above her eyelids on either side of the bridge of her nose. “Release,” he said a few seconds later, listening to her slow exhalation as he let his hands fall from her face.

He knew the acupressure wouldn’t take away her pain, but at the very least, it would help to relieve some of the strain. Carlisle glanced away, closing his eyes for a short moment as he withdrew the penlight from his pocket. This had the very real possibility of causing her pain to be worse, but he needed to see if any blood vessels had burst behind her eyes. He watched her look down at the click of his pen light, trembling as she squeezed her eyes closed. She was terribly frightened of the light, of what it might mean, he thought, and wanted nothing more than to wrap her in his arms and promise her that everything would be all right.

“I need to look into your eyes,” he told her regretfully, narrowing his eyes in sympathy when she nodded.

He soothed her when she whimpered, the sound too low for anyone but one of his kind to hear, and watched as she clenched her jaw. She was bracing herself, he realized, pursing his lips as he lifted his hand to cup her jaw in his palm, smoothing the pad of his thumb over the rise of her cheekbone as she slowly opened her eyes. He wondered if she was aware that she was holding onto his wrist, her hand trembling slightly as she grasped the cuff of his sleeve in a desperate grip. He waited for her nod before bringing the light up, shinning it quickly over her eyes before turning it off and tucking the instrument away in his pocket once more.

“Nothing appears amiss,” he assured her, as he studied her. “Close your eyes,” he instructed softly, watching as she blinked twice before her eyes remained closed.

He stayed in front of her, his hand still cupping her jaw, her hand gripping the cuff of his sleeve tightly. Carlisle listened as her heart beat slowed, her breaths becoming longer, deeper, as the scent of her fear faded away. He waited a moment longer before tapping the outside of her knee gently, watching as her eyes opened slowly, only to keep her gaze averted. There was no mistaking the expression on her face, he thought as he studied her. She had been made to feel ashamed of showing her pain.

“Look at me, Angela,” he called to her softly, waiting for her to meet his gaze. “When did your migraine onset?”

“Um. . . “ She fell silent, and he watched her flinch her eyes squeezing closed as the lights from a passing car passed over her. The light may have been brief—less than two seconds—but it had been enough to cause her pain to flare once more. “Biology,” she said after a moment, her voice rasping as she blinked slowly before meeting his gaze once more. “Second period.”

He nodded quietly as he studied her. She was exhausted, the pain of her migraine taking what little energy she had left. “Did you take any medicine then?” he asked when she remained silent, and he watched her shake her head, rubbing her lips together as she glanced away.

He had seen the sheen of tears, knew that she was trying not to cry, trying not to make any noise. Part of him wanted to rail against whatever she had been through that had caused her such fear of being seen in pain, while another—and far more powerful—part of him wanted to wrap her in his arms and never let her go.

“The preventatives never work, and the new stuff. . .” she trailed off, wincing and shaking her head as she pulled away.

Carlisle nodded, a curious frown marring his brow. “Have you taken anything for your pain at all yet?” he asked, frowning when she shook her head.

She shrugged as she motioned to her laptop. “I was trying to find a balance between pain relief and being functional,” she said.

Carlisle looked to the computer, reading over the information quickly before turning back to her. “It’s never a wise idea to mix medications of this potency,” he cautioned her, frowning as he looked back at the screen. “Dexamethasone and Imitrex,” he read aloud. “You have both of these?” he asked her. Angela nodded as she opened her hands to reveal the bottles, her palms creased from how tightly she had been squeezing the bottles. “These are older medications, prescribed almost a year ago,” he said as he lifted the bottles, studying them before setting them aside on her desk.

“I don’t like taking my new stuff. It reacts weird,” she said, wincing as she closed her eyes.

“Weird how?” Carlisle asked as he looked to the bottles sitting on her desk, frowning when he noted that each of the three bottles standing to the left of her computer had been prescribed in the past two months.

“It um . . .” Angela paused as she took in a shaking breath, and Carlisle turned back to meet her gaze, noticing that she was only barely able to keep her eyes open. He stood at once, moving behind her to turn off her bedroom light, returning in front of her to dim her computer screen until the brightness was cut by half. The light from the hall spilled in through her open bedroom door behind her, offering a pale gold glow for her to see by without being overwhelming. “Thank you,” she said softly.

He nodded in return. “Your new medicine,” he reminded her as he tapped the outside of her knee, the touch fleeting, just enough to gain her attention.

“It makes me jittery—shaky,” she offered, and shook her head. “Not hyper. It’s hard to hold onto anything. I—I can’t grip anything very well once it kicks in and my vision blurs so bad I can barely see.”

Carlisle’s eyes widened. “Angela, those are very serious effects,” he said, doing his best to keep the alarm he felt subdued. He closed his eyes as he released a slow breath through his nose. “Does it ease the pain, at least?”

“I don’t really know,” she offered with a shrug, biting her lip as she met his gaze. “It tends to knock me out for a while. An alarm could go off and I wouldn’t know it.”

“How long is ‘a while’?” he asked her with a frown.

Angela shook her head. “I took it one day after I got home from school,” she said, frowning as though trying to pull on the memory. “I woke up the next morning in the kitchen.”

Carlisle narrowed his eyes. “In the kitchen?” he repeated with confusion.

“I remember feeling out of it, not—not tired—um . . . disconnected?” she said with a frown. “I was making myself some tea. I—I don’t remember what happened, just that I was walking toward the counter and then the next thing I knew I was waking up on the floor.” She sniffled, pressing the bent knuckle of her index finger under her nose only to pull it away with a smear of blood. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she rushed to apologize, shrinking away from him.

Carlisle touched her arm gently as he plucked a tissue from the box on her desk, handing it to her as he met her gaze. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I’m a doctor, Angela,” he reminded her gently, and tucked her hair behind her ear. She reminded him a bit of Bella and of Esme. “A little blood isn’t going to bother me. How often do the nosebleeds happen?”

Shrugging her shoulders and biting her lip before answering, her voice was soft when she spoke. “It used to be just one out of every ten migraines, now it’s one out of every three.”

Unable to hide the alarm on his face, Carlisle did his best to keep his voice comforting. “Angela, have you told your doctor about this?”

Her short laugh was humorless and tired. “Which one? It’s never the same doctor.”

“Your parents then?” he asked hoping that she had informed someone.

Her reaction wasn’t at all what he had been expecting, the laughter that bubbled forth was tinged with an aching despair. She shook her head as she apologized, her voice trembling, and he realized that she was laughing if only to keep from crying. He watched her rub the fingertips of one hand back and forth over the middle of her forehead, squeezing her eyes closed as her chin trembled. Carlisle pressed his lips together in a thin line as he reached out to take her hand, and heard the soft sob she tried to hide as she squeezed her fingers around his in a desperate grip.

He realized that, for as afraid as she was for him to see her in pain, she was even more terrified that he would leave her. He spoke to her softly, promised her that he was there with her, that she was safe with him. She calmed slowly, her hand dropping from her face as she rubbed her lips together before her eyes fluttered open. She met his gaze slowly, the look of regret and shame in her dark eyes bothering him deeply.

“My parents, for the most part, still think that my migraines are just my way of getting attention, but because of the MRIs and all the doctors they took me to all saying the same thing, they just kind of ignore it.” She laughed humorlessly and shook her head. “I spent my twelfth birthday inside of an MRI tube. Two months after that I got my first prescription and then . . . well, let’s just say that I got really good at taking care of myself.”

_Taking care of herself?_ Carlisle thought as an insane urge to wrap her in his arms and protect her shot through him. What kind of parents left their child to take care of herself? What kind of people didn’t care, or believe that their own child was in so much constant pain? She deserved far better than this. He blinked, his attention drawn away by the vibrations of his phone in his pocket and he looked down as he took out the device. His released a short-amused exhalation through his nose as he read the message from Alice.

_Just bring her home for the weekend. Things will work themselves out._

He tucked the phone back into his pocket without responding to the message, looking up to meet Angela’s gaze once more. “Are you certain you’re up for a girls’ weekend?” he asked kindly.

“I need a girls’ weekend,” she countered, her voice strained and quiet.

He nodded as he offered her a fleeting smile. “Would you be adverse to me taking these with us?” he asked, motioning to the bottles on her desk and the open box on her bed. “With your permission, I’d also like to pull your medical file.”

He watched her brows draw together slowly before her eyes widened. Her lips parted as she swallowed thickly, the scent of salt once more in the air around her as her eyes glistened with the sheen of tears. She looked at the box on her bed before turning back to him, blinking as her lips moved though no words came forth.

“You think you can help?” she asked him with so much hope in her eyes that it made his heart ache.

“I’d like to try,” Carlisle said, frowning when she covered her mouth with her hand, her brow furrowing as she trembled.

“Dr. Cullen,” she called to him quietly as she dropped her hand to her lap.

“Please, call me Carlisle,” he said with a kind smile, and watched as she nodded.

“If you think you can help, you can take whatever you want,” she said, only to fall silent, and he reached up to smooth away a fallen tear from her cheek. “Each time a doctor gives me a new medication, they promise that it will take the pain away, and each time it seems that the pain gets just a little bit worse. So, if you can do something, if you can help . . .”

“I will do everything in my power to help you, Angela. You won’t be alone with this anymore,” he promised her, and handed her the open can of Dr. Pepper sitting on the desk. “You should take something to help with your migraine before we leave.”

He watched her eyes narrow, her lips pursing in a half-grimace as she looked to the three bottles sitting to the left of her computer. She stared at them for a long moment before lifting her hand to select the one in the middle. The expression on her face was more than enough to tell him that she was reluctant to take it and he didn’t understand why.

“Angela,” he called to her, waiting for her to look at him before he nodded to the bottle she held. “Does it help with the pain?”

Her shoulders moved up in slow small shrug. “Kind of,” she offered, pursing her lips as though she was afraid of saying that it didn’t. “It’s the only one that doesn’t make me loopy or knock me out.”

“What does it do?” he asked her gently, as he nodded to the bottle for permission, and accepted it when she handed it to him. “Midrin,” he read the name before handing it back to her.

“It helps with the lights,” she offered softly.

Carlisle nodded as he blinked, glancing away before returning his attention to her. Any other doctor would see her as being difficult, think she was deliberately holding back information, no matter how soft spoken her answers were. But he could see the truth of her reluctance in the furrow of her brow, the way she would glance at him only to look away once more. She was afraid to tell him more than the few bits she had offered him, and he understood then that it hadn’t simply been her parents who had made her feel ashamed of her pain, it had been her past doctors as well.

“Could you explain that to me?” he asked her, smoothing the pad of his thumb over the backs of her fingers, her hand still clasping his in a tight hold.

She blinked as she frowned, her eyes narrowing as her gaze drifted to the side. “It doesn’t . . . “ She took in a breath, releasing it in a heavy exhalation as she met his gaze. “It doesn’t take away my pain—it doesn’t really even take the edge off, and it doesn’t make me tired or loopy but it—it makes it hard to see—which helps with the lights.”

Carlisle released a deep breath through his nose as he studied her. “Do any of them help with the pain?” he asked, pressing his lips together in a thin line when she shook her head. “ _Have_ any of them helped with the pain?”

Angela shrugged. “Does knocking me out count?”

“Only if you wake up without pain,” he replied.

“Then no,” she offered quietly.

“The side effects you’ve mentioned of this medication and the others,” Carlisle began only to pause as he glanced away before meeting her gaze once more, “did any of your doctors discuss them with you?”

Angela’s gaze slipped to the side as she frowned, and shook her head. Carlisle could feel her pulling away, her brow furrowing as she pursed her lips. Her grip on his hand tightened, and he rubbed the pad of his thumb in gentle small circles over the back of her hand in an effort to soothe her.

“They always acted as though I was supposed to know what the effects were, or what the terminology they used meant, and each one of them got impatient with me when I asked anything,” she told him, her voice achingly quiet. “So, I stopped asking, started looking things up online. Nothing has ever worked, and in the beginning, I guess they thought I wasn’t trying or that—that I just wanted pills,” she said with a frown. Carlisle shook his head in confusion. “One of the doctors when I was thirteen stopped all the medications, made me get a series of MRIs and blood tests and he even—” She fell silent, shaking her head as she looked down before looking back up to meet his gaze. “There was a lot of stuff. He gave me a new medicine about six months later and said that I wasn’t faking it after all, but that I shouldn’t question their judgement.”

Carlisle’s frown deepened as he studied her. “What did your parents say to that?” he asked her with concern.

Angela shook her head quickly, her expression changing as though she feared she’d said something wrong. “They don’t . . . They don’t go with me. They haven’t gone with me to an appointment since I was first diagnosed.” She shrugged slightly, the movement so minimal he was certain a human would have missed it. “They still think it’s an act. And the doctors I’ve seen, no one ever questions it, something about a note.”

“You won’t be alone with this anymore,” he promised her sincerely, reaching up to smooth away a tear from her cheek. “Your medication,” he said as he nodded to the bottle in her hand. “You said it makes it hard to see. How does it make it hard to see?” he asked her, pressing his lips together in a thin line as he listened to the rhythm of her heart, and did what he could to soothe her anxiety.

“It kind of . . .” she began only to fall silent as she narrowed her eyes, “dims everything. It’s like someone slowly turning out the lights, putting the world on a dimmer switch.” She looked down at the bottle in her hand. “The pills can be broken in half, but . . .If I take a whole one, it’s kind of like wearing sunglasses at night. I can see some things better than others, but it’s all pretty dark. Half of one makes it like a stormy day. Everything is dimmer—darker—but I can still see everything.”

“The doctor who prescribed it and the one who came after,” Carlisle began as he studied her, “they never asked about your reactions to it, did they?”

“None of them have ever asked,” Angela said quietly as she bowed her head. “I want the pain to stop, but I hate going in for the appointments,” she admitted reluctantly. “The way they talk to me, and some of the things they say. . . “ She shook her head before meeting his gaze. “It feels like they don’t want me there, like I’m wasting their time.”

Carlisle pursed his lips as he nodded and stood, slipping his hand from hers as he moved. “Take half a dose,” he cautioned her as he gathered the remaining bottles from her desk. “I’m certain you’ll want to see some things this evening,” he added, returning the items he carried to the box and snapping the lid in place before turning his attention back to her. “Dramamine?” he said as he watched her open the bottle and shake out a few of the pills. “The Midrin makes you nauseous?”

Angela frowned as she nodded, swallowing the medicine with the last bit of her soda. “They all make me nauseous,” she said as she stood, shutting down her computer before unplugging it and tucking it and the cord into the bag leaning against her desk. “I thought that was normal,” she offered with confusion as she turned back to him, dropping the bottles of Dramamine and Midrin into her purse.

“No, it’s not,” he denied as he watched her slip the strap for her computer bag over her shoulder before she reached for her purse. He closed his eyes as he smiled, reminding himself not to scare her. “Come,” he said as he met her gaze with a playful grin. “We shouldn’t keep Alice waiting. She is not known for her patience,” he told her with a teasing wink.

Angela nodded as she followed him out of her bedroom. He looked back when the sound of her footsteps stopped, watching as she stared wide-eyed at something in the darkness of her bedroom.

“Angela?” he called to her, watching as she shook her head before moving to follow him. “What is it?”

“Old houses,” she offered with a shake of her head.

 

**~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~**

**  
**

Carlisle narrowed his eyes as he looked at the road ahead, pulling through the intersection as he glanced at Angela from the corner of his eye. He knew he hadn’t been mistaken about her reactions earlier. She had seen something in her bedroom as she was leaving that unsettled her, and then when he had led her downstairs, the box with her films and medications held in his hands, she had stopped again, frozen like a deer in headlights as she stared at something in the kitchen.

_“Angela?” Carlisle called to her when she failed to move._

_He frowned when she didn’t move or respond, her heartbeat racing as he smelled the trace edges of fear that sweetened her blood. He set the box down in front of the front door as he moved to stand behind her, glancing down at her before following her line of sight. The furrow between his brows deepened as he looked at her dining room table, seeing nothing other than a single red rose lying on the wooden surface. The sight of the flower scared her, and he didn’t understand why._

_“Angela?” he called to her softly, placing his hand on her shoulder, only to step back when she jumped._

The memory faded away as he turned down the street that would lead him out of town, his gaze slipping to the side as he glanced at the girl seated beside him once more. He had known instinctively that she wouldn’t tell him why the rose upset her, choosing instead to ask her if she wanted to bring it with her. He could still remember the fear in her eyes when she had shaken her head, and though the movement had been slight, it had been enough to set him on edge—to confirm his belief that she was afraid of the flower.

She hadn’t even been willing to turn off the kitchen light, her fear holding her in place. He had moved across the house instead, stepping into the kitchen and lifting the flower from the table. There hadn’t been anything threatening about it that he could tell, the trace scent of another human lingering on the flower one he didn’t recognize. He had turned back to her, holding up the rose and intending to ask her if she wanted to keep it, only to watch as her eyes widened. None of her reactions had been strong enough for a human to notice, but for one of his kind—her fear had been undeniable.

Her eyes had remained fixed on him as he dropped the flower into the trash before he turned off the kitchen light and returned to her side, and he realized now, that in some manner, she had been worried for him. His frown deepened as he turned onto the private road that led to his house. Had she believed he would be harmed by the flower? It didn’t make any sense.

Angela had remained tense, skittish even, as she’d followed him outside. He had stayed with her as she locked the door, walking beside her to his car after. It had seemed odd to him that she had only relaxed once she was closed inside of his car, sitting next to him as he backed out of her driveway, and he realized then that she was afraid of her house. Perhaps not afraid, he reasoned, but it certainly had caused her more than a bit of anxiety. The further away from her house he had driven, the more she had relaxed, until he felt the last traces of her fear fall away as he had turned onto the road out of town.

Carlisle frowned as he realized that he had been on edge most of the drive as well, relaxing only when she did, and blinked as he turned onto the private drive that led to his home, tucked almost two hundred feet away from the road. He focused his mind on his shift at the hospital, taking in a slow breath as he guarded his thoughts from Edward, needing the separation until he was ready to share his findings.

His pensive frown disappeared slowly, a smile taking its place as he felt a subtle warmth infuse the car, chuckling softly when he heard Angela whisper Emmett’s name. He’d heard the same thing from Edward, Rosalie—even Jasper. Emmett was Angela’s favorite. Even back in the beginning of their relationship, that very first day he had spent time alone with her, Emmett had commented on how Angela responded to him—as though they’d always been family.

“Go on,” he encouraged her, meeting her gaze before nodding to Emmett. “I’ll bring your bags in,” he promised as Emmett opened her car door.

Carlisle watched as Angela unbuckled her seatbelt, stepping from the car with her purse strap hanging from her hand, only to be wrapped in Emmett’s arms immediately. She relaxed against him, laughing when he ruffled her hair as he stepped back, and tucked herself against his side when he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She didn’t question the coldness of their bodies at all, pressing closer instead of pulling away, relaxing instead of retreating. She didn’t have the same knowledge of what they were that Bella did, he thought as he turned off the car and stepped out from behind the wheel. She should find it strange, frightening even, but she didn’t, and he didn’t understand why.

“Come on, half pint,” Emmett said, his eyes widening before he turned his back to Angela, only to crouch down. “Alice said I have to get you upstairs fast,” Emmett told her, affecting a shudder as Angela climbed on his back, and he hooked his arms behind her knees to hold her in place.

“You can’t tell me you’re afraid of her,” Angela laughed as Emmett jogged toward the house. “She’s tiny!”

“Pffft! You haven’t ever seen her angry!” he joked in return.

Angela laughed, as Emmett carried her in through the front door. Carlisle chuckled at Angela’s belief that Alice didn’t get angry, having never seen her in any manner other than bouncy and bubbly. If she only knew, Carlisle thought as he moved to open the back door, glancing up when Edward appeared on the other side of the car, his brow furrowed in concern.

“First Alice and now you,” Edward said with confusion as he moved to help Carlisle, retrieving Angela’s overnight bag and backpack from the rear passenger seat. “You’re blocking me.”

“For some things, for now,” Carlisle said with a slow nod, wondering if Edward had picked up on any of the anxiety Angela felt in regards to her house. “Alice has been blocking you?”

Edward nodded. “She keeps saying it isn’t time yet,” he said, tilting his head as he studied Carlisle. “I haven’t spent much time with her alone—aside from the time she was ill. Emmett or Rosalie would know more about that than I would. I—She was afraid of a rose?” he asked. Carlisle nodded as he let the memory play through. “Shock? She didn’t say anything about it?” Edward asked.

“No,” Carlisle replied as he followed Edward up to the house.

“Emmett and Rosalie noticed the same thing,” Edward said as he held the door open for Carlisle, letting him step inside first as he followed behind with Angela’s bags. “It’s been almost a month since they caught even the faintest trace scent of Angela’s parents in her house at all. Rosalie doesn’t spend much time with Angela when she’s awake, she’s still confused over the connection she feels to Angela, and Emmett hasn’t pushed the issue. He hasn’t said for certain, but he thinks Angela will pull away if he asks.”

Carlisle stopped as he looked at the portable light board in the library. He had thought earlier that he would need one, but he knew that he hadn’t had one in here before.

“Alice,” Edward offered with a snort of amusement. “She’s been pushing herself to see as much as she can of Angela in her visions. The only thing she could make out clearly was that you would need that,” he said. “She just wouldn’t say why.”

Carlisle looked up as Rosalie and Emmett stepped into the library, Esme stepping in shortly after, and he nodded when Esme offered him a single word in answer to their collective presence.

“Alice.”


End file.
